The Vandals of Elmway Drive

Sheryl straightened up from weeding the flowerbed and, with the back of her wrist, wiped the perspiration from her forehead.  She glanced up and down the row of neat little houses, simmering quietly in the bright afternoon sun, and noticed that some of the scraggly shrubbery had been replaced with new plantings.  The Homeowners' Association is certainly doing a good job of lawn maintenance this year.

Across the common walkway Margaret Thresher, the next-door neighbor she’d only recently met, wheeled a barrow load of dark mulch around the corner of her house.

“Hello, Sheryl,” she sang out.  “Isn’t it just a fantastically lovely day?”

“Hi, Margaret,” Sheryl noted the neat walking shoes and crisp dress and thought self-consciously at her own grass-stained sneakers, torn jeans and perspiration-soaked shirt.  How can she possibly garden in a dress? “It is nice, but our peace won’t last long as soon as school’s out . . .”  She shrugged and her voice trailed off.

Margaret laughed lightly.  “They’re all good kids though.  We should be thankful for that.”

Sheryl frowned.  “Apparently not all of them are ‘good kids’.  We’ve had an awfully lot of vandalism lately.”

“Vandalism? I haven’t heard anything about it.  But then, Howard has been working such odd hours, and I try to mesh my schedule with his.  And then we’ve been trying to get the back yard refurbished and all these shrubs taken care of.  The other night we worked ‘til two in the morning.  Poor Howard.  We had bought all those little plants and I was afraid they’d die if we didn’t get them into the ground.”

“It seems like there always plenty to be done, in spite of the Association’s maintenance crew.”

“Yes, and now we have all this mulch.  Would you like some to put around your shrubs?”

“Well, I don’t know.”  Sheryl looked at her own shrubbery.  They had not yet been mulched.

“Oh, please.  Do take some.  We have so much.  I just wanted a little, but the man wouldn’t sell less than a half-truckload and you should just see the pile we have back there.”

“I suppose those poor old things really could use it, it’s getting so hot and dry, but I’d want to pay you for it.”

“Oh, no.  I couldn’t let you do that.  We just have so much, you’d be doing us a favor just to take it.”

“Well, all right.  I’ll talk to Don.  When do you want it moved?”

“Anytime.  Whenever you want.”

“Okay.  Let me know when you’ve used all that you want and I’ll see what we can do.”

“There’s no need to wait, really . . .”

“Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!”  Sheryl’s eight-year-old daughter came running toward them, her long hair flying.

“Janie, you remember Mrs. Thresher.”

“Oh, yeah,” the girl said, dropping her books and rushing to hug their petite neighbor.  “Margaret’s my friend.”

Margaret laughed and hugged her back.  “You know, Janie, I think I have something for you.  Come on around back.”  She looked at Sheryl.  “Is that all right with you?”

Sheryl shrugged.  “I suppose. . .”  She watched the two disappear, arm-in-arm, around the corner of the house.  Soon they reappeared with Janie cradling a long-stemmed pink rose.  “Isn’t that beautiful!”

“It is lovely, isn’t it?”  Margaret smiled.  “Janie helped me take care of them.  We pruned and fertilized, so I felt the first one should be hers.”

“That was very sweet of you, Margaret, but the first one?”

“They say the more blossoms you cut the better they produce.  Say, would you like to come in and have a little wine or something?”

“I’ll take a rain check, if you don’t mind.  Don will be home soon and I have to shower.  I’m a mess.”  Sheryl felt Janie tugging at her arm and looked down to see her holding out the rose.

“Would you put this in some water, Mommy?”

“Sure, baby, grab your books and we’ll do it right now.” With a wave at Margaret, she opened the door and the two filed into the house.

“Some of the kids from school were going to the playground,” Janie said, as she laid her books on the coffee table.  “Can I go?”

“I suppose,” Sheryl answered, taking a bud vase from a cabinet.  “Don’t go anywhere else and I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”


The next morning, Sheryl kissed Don goodbye at the door and was surprised to find him storming back into the kitchen a moment later.

“Darn kids!” He fumed.  “Where’s that push broom?”

“In the hall closet.  What’s the matter, honey?”

“You should see the mess out there!  Broken bottles all over the place.  You’d think those kids could find something better to do than smash bottles in the street.  If I don’t want four flat tires, I’ll have to sweep the whole block.”

“But you’ll be late.  Can’t you drive around them?”

“No way.  They really did a fine job.”

“I’ll call Security and report it.  Seems like they’d get caught, a bunch of kids like that.  How could they miss them?”

“There’s only a couple of men on duty.  They can’t be everywhere.”

Sheryl sighed.  “I suppose not.  Come on, I’ll help you sweep.”  As she and Don cleared a path for the car, she noticed a figure deep within the open garage across the street, apparently watching them.  That’s odd, she thought and promptly forgot about it.

After she finished cleaning up the mess and got Janie off to school, Sheryl sank limply into a chair on the patio.  If only those kids knew how much work it was cleaning up those messes.  If only they could catch them and make them clean it all up, that would teach them a lesson.  Hearing a timid knock at the patio gate, she called out, “Come in. It’s open.”

Margaret unlatched the gate and peered in.  “Good morning, Sheryl.  Are you busy?”

“No, not now.”

“Good.  I just made a coffee cake and thought maybe you’d like some.  It’s fresh from the oven.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Margaret.  Yes, I could certainly use something.  I hope it’s sinfully rich.”

Margaret laughed.  “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Come on in.  The coffee should still be fairly decent.”

Margaret followed her into the kitchen and sat the cake on the counter.  “You really look frazzled this morning.  Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked as she pulled up a stool and sat down.

“Oh, I slept fine.”  Sheryl sat down two steaming mugs of coffee.  “I just spent the morning sweeping the street for a block and a half.”

“Sweeping the street?”  She looked puzzled.  “I don’t understand.”

“It seems our friendly neighborhood vandals were at it again last night.  There were broken bottles all over.  Don and I had to clear a path before he could go to work.”

Margaret shook her head sadly.  “I just don’t understand kids today.  They have everything a kid could possibly want and still . . . If I’d done anything like that, my dad would have killed me.”

“Yours and mine both.  Perhaps that’s the problem.  They have so much that nothing means anything to them.”

“Not their own property or anyone else’s.”

“But why destroy it?  That’s just plain mean.”

“I don’t think they’re trying to be mean.  Surely not.  Maybe it’s just their way of having fun.”

“You mean like this thing was just to hear the glass break!”

“Well, maybe,” Margaret nodded.  “Something like that.”

“Well, I wish they’d find some other way to get their jollies.  What ever happened to sex?”

Margaret blushed.  “Sheryl!  Surely you don’t mean that!”

“No, I’m kidding, of course.  It just seems to me an odd way of having fun.”

“Yes, it is that.  Howard was telling me just last night that the people right beside us had had their screens slit.”

“Probably the same bunch.”

“Well, maybe they’ll catch them soon.”

“I hope so, before the whole neighborhood goes up in flames.”

Margaret’s eyes widened.  “Surely, they wouldn’t do that!  Set someone’s house on fire, I mean.”

Sheryl shrugged.  “Who knows?”

“Heavens!  That’s an awful thought.”  She shuddered, stared into space for a moment, then stood up and smiled brightly.  “Well, I’m going to assume not.  Right now, my shrubs are waiting to be mulched.”

Sheryl started to rise, but Margaret waved her down.  “Never mind, I’ll find my own way out.  You just sit there and rest.”

Sheryl nodded and, with a perky wave, Margaret disappeared as quietly as she had come.

The days drifted peacefully by and Sheryl heard no new reports of vandals.  She was nearly convinced that the incidents had run their course, when she began to hear more rumors.  The Morrison’s house was said to have received a barrage of eggs.  The Smiths told of garbage cans spilling in their gate, and the Millers found obscene doodles crayoned on their car.  She began to worry constantly.

“I’m sure our turn is coming,” she told Don in bed one night.  “We were lucky with just the bottles.”

“Don’t let it upset you,” he soothed.  “Enough people have complained by now that they’ve doubled the security guards.  They’ll catch those little devils, just you watch.”

“I hope you’re right.  They’ve got to be stopped before someone gets hurt.”

“They will be.  Now go to sleep and don’t worry.  We still have to get up early, vandals or no vandals.”

“Okay, I’ll try.  Good night.”  She turned over and listened as his breathing slowed and deepened.  Don was probably right.  They’ll soon catch them.  Slowly she
drifted into a restless sleep.

Suddenly she jerked awake.  Muscles tensed, she listened.  There it was.  What was that scratching sound outside the window?  Slowly she eased out of bed and tiptoed across the room.  Peeping around the edge of the drape, she saw a figure toss something over the shrubbery and then bend over it.

Had her worst fears come true?  Was someone setting fire to the house?  She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the phone.  She dialed and listened to the ringing.

“Oh, hurry, please,” she whispered.

“Security.”

“This is Sheryl Sloan, at 124 Elmway and there’s someone outside.  I’m afraid they’re trying to set fire to the house.  Please hurry, please.”

Sheryl rushed back to the bedroom and shook Don awake.

“Shhhh.” She whispered. “There’s someone outside setting fire to the house.”

“What?  Let me get my gun.”

“No, no.  I’ve called Security.  I don’t want you getting shot.  Let them take care of it.”

A long, high-pitched wail shattered the quiet.  As Sheryl returned from checking on Janie, the sounds of the struggle outside filled the room.  Sheryl grabbed her robe and ran to the door, with Don not far behind.  On the walk she stopped so short that Don bumped into her.

“Margaret!”

The burly men who held their screaming, thrashing neighbor turned toward her.  “You know this woman?” he asked.

Sheryl nodded dumbly.  “That’s Margaret Thresher.  She lives right there,” she said, pointing to the house next door. 

“She live alone?”

“No, no.  She’s married.  Her husband’s name is Howard Thresher.  Oh, my God.”

“I’ll go get him, Officer,” Don volunteered.  “You will take her on home, won’t you?”

“Well, that depends.  You two going to press charges?”

“Charges?”  Sheryl asked.  “What was she doing?”

The man chuckled.  “Just an old-fashioned wrap job.  Used to be quite a compliment among teenagers.  See?  Toilet paper all over the bushes there.”

“No, no.  We won’t press charges, will we, Don?”  She hurried after her husband while the man half-dragged the struggling Margaret behind them.

Don rang the bell several times before the sleepy-eyed, disheveled head of Howard Thresher appeared around the edge of the door.  His gaze traveled from one face to another as the blood slowly drained away.

“Come in.  Come in, please.”  He opened the door wide and turned quickly back into the house.  When they were all inside, Sheryl heard his muffled voice coming from the bedroom and then the sound of a phone receiver being replaced on its cradle.  Soon he reappeared and walked directly to his wife.

“Everything’s all right now, baby,” he murmured.  “Everything’s okay.”  He cradled her head against his chest and she began to sob softly.  He stroked her hair and met the gaze of the guard over the top of her head.  “Her doctor’s on his way.”

“Yes, sir.”  He shook his head in confusion.  “What’s her problem anyway?”

“The doctor’s a psychiatrist,” he said softly and the officer nodded.  “My wife had a very repressed childhood.  You know how she is,” he said, looking at Sheryl, “always so sweet and nice.  So mild-mannered.  She never gets upset about anything – on the surface anyway.  But inside . . . What was she doing?”

“Wrapping,” the guard answered.  “Vandalism.”

Howard nodded.  “Childish pranks, right?  Figures.  You see, when she was a youngster, she was never able to…do a lot of things that most of us did.  According to Dr. James, she’s still holding those repressed desires to create mischief.  I thought she was over all that, but apparently…  She’s been working so hard, trying to get this place in shape.  Apparently she’s just so tired when she goes to bed that she’s sleepwalking again."

Sheryl touched Don’s arm and nodded toward the door.  “Howard,” she said softly, “if there’s anything we can do, call us.”

He nodded and they slipped out of the house.  Sheryl was silent as they crossed the lawn, entered their own house and returned to bed.  As she flipped off the light, she muttered, “Vandalism.  And it’s always the kids.”