There's something peculiar about Mr. Ruthers. It's not that he has a weird last name. It's not that he smells like blue cheese most of the time, or that he wears glasses twenty years old or even that he has a wig with a bad comb-over. Sure he walks with a slight limb and has a nervous laugh that slips out often, but what bothers me the most about him is that when he isn't having dinner with us, he's stone quiet.
He works at a dull desk job, either as an accountant or computer designer or sales rep. I'm not sure anymore. Oftentimes, he gets home just as I do from school. We'll walk the last hundred feet with hardly an acknowledgement, and if I do try to talk to him, he'll nod, grunt, or ignore me completely. As soon as the door opens, he'll stalk directly up to his room in the attic, like a cat to table scraps. All you can hear from his room is his chair scuffling softly on the floor. One time I wasn't sure if he was still alive, so I pressed my ear against his door and strained to pick up any signs of life. All I heard was heavy wheezing.
My mom will invite him to come down and watch some TV with us. "Don't be a stranger," she says.
"No thanks," he always replies, "I'd rather do paperwork in my room. Nothing personal, my dear."
That should tell you something right there.
When my kid brother asks him to play cards with him he answers, "I never played cards. I think I'd only bore you."
He never goes to bed at the same time. Usually his light shines from the cracks to his room when I go to bed. Other times, he'll go to bed without having supper. One night, the creaking from the attic stairs being pulled down woke me up.
I've caught him carrying strange things into his room too. My mom insists it's none of my business. He is living in my house right now. I'm making it my business. Vintage carpet bags like from those black and white movies, long cello cases, and an occasional backpack. I never see those things again. My brother suspects he's a serial killer with cut-up bodies. My mom thinks he's lonely, and we should be nice to him. As for me, I don't know what to think.
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