There she goes again, spouting off obscenities in my direction. A needless and wasted effort, if you ask me. My neighbor, or should I say, neighbors from hell moved in three months ago. They live next door in the ratty rundown farmhouse with multi colored shingles, mostly pea green and gray with a hint of mustard yellow in between. A small old house left behind from another era that is well over one - hundred years old. 

The previous owner was nice, but a little nutty. After her husband died twelve years ago, she never recovered emotionally and let the house go. He had tried to do some work to the outside and inside, but he fell sick and never completed anything. Everyone felt sorry for them so no one complained about the condition of the house.

Tracey must have sold it for a song. Everyone thought the new owners would plow down the ugly house and build a new one. After all it sits on almost an acre of land. But they didn’t.

Instead, the new owners litter the yard with trash. The husband, probably in his early fifties, is a plumber. You can tell by the discarded water tanks and toilets in the front yard. Quite an eyesore. He seems friendly enough. She is not. Dee’s a clerk at the town hall. She and Ryan have a twenty something son who lives with them. He comes and goes. Mostly goes. And that’s a good thing. The company he keeps seem like a bunch of losers. Always showing up in the middle of the night to party in the back yard, drinking and carrying on. After the neighbors called the cops a few times it quieted down. But it only succeeded in pissing off the parents, or at least her. Dee’s been worse ever since. Always yelling at the neighbors, especially us since we live right next door with only a few shrubs and a large old apple tree between us.

The heavy set woman with long gray hair stood in the middle of our two properties and yelled. “What are you gonna do with all those flower pots you have lined up around that apple tree?” She asked, finger wagging. It sounded more like an accusation. The thick limbed tree was old, but it stood on our property, though I must admit it bordered on hers. I know she won’t be happy a few months from now when the apple bombs fall.

I looked at the circle of mulch around the tree my husband had landscaped. “Why I plan to plant the petunias, of course,” I shouted.

“But that tree is partly on my property. I know because I had the land surveyed before we moved in. I thought you would get rid of it. After all, it’s old and gnarly looking. It could fall at any moment.”

I gave her a look. You’re old and gnarly looking, I thought. But once again kept my thoughts to myself. It wasn’t the first time she’d approached me about the tree or the picket fence in the back yard, which she claimed abutted her property too. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I shouted, and got down on my hands and knees to put the plants in the ground.

“If you don’t take that tree down or at least the limbs hanging over my property, you’ll be sorry,” she groused, and walked away.

“Whatever,” I muttered and continued to plant my red, white, and blue petunias in time for the fourth of July. I have to admit, it looked good. I only hoped the plants wouldn’t get crushed by the falling apples. The circle around the thick trunk was small, fanning out by a foot or so, just wide enough to draw attention to it, but not enough to get in Don’s way when he mows. My husband, Don had done all the edging and landscaping himself with little gardens around the side and back of the house with mulched areas for shrubs and plants plus a small vegetable patch in back. He prided himself on such meticulous work and the house looked great.

Unfortunately, the beauty of it and other surrounding houses were lost next to the hideous house of horrors, as people called it. It had been that way for years. We held out hope with the new owners. Now all hope was dashed. It looked worse, if that was possible.

Well, I guess there wasn’t much anyone could do. But I would look into the surveying thing and see if there was any truth to what Dee had said. She seemed to run hot and cold and tended to bully people about, from what I could tell the short time I’d known her. It was best to stay out of her way.

It was late. I’d call my friend Lisa in the morning. She worked at the town hall too. Maybe she could find a record on the property. I wanted to be sure where the property line was drawn before I said anything. Unlike Dee, I wanted to get my facts straight before I opened my mouth. Dee was opinionated, not to mention a real hothead. I imagine her husband would back her up whether he agreed with her or not. He tended to take her word on such matters. It was obvious who wore the pants in that family.

The next morning I held the phone in my hand ready to speed dial Lisa before I left for work. I happened to look out my dining room window and couldn’t believe what I saw. My petunias had all been dug up and were scattered about like they were thrown in a fit of rage. My first thought was that some animal had been at my garden. I was right. It was Dee. She stood in her driveway with her hands on her hips looking like a proud peacock, admiring her handy work.

   I was enraged. “How dare she?” I yelled to no one. My husband had already left for work.

I ran into the yard. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled as she attempted to get in her car and drive off.

“What do you mean, Sara?” She asked innocently.

“Why did you dig up my plants?” I was pissed and I wasn’t going to let her bully me any longer. This had gone on long enough.

“I didn’t do it,” she yelled.

“Yeah, like I believe that.” I spat.

“I didn’t, though I wish I had. Now all that remains is to cut down that dumb tree. I don’t want all those apples all over my lawn come fall.” She spewed.

I was dumbfounded. I stood there not knowing what to say. I was vaguely aware that someone else was there. Her son Kent. He was peeking around the corner from the side of the house, near the shed. I heard a motor start up.

“What’s going on?” I yelled, walking across the yard. She wasn’t far from her husband’s latest plumbing exhibition.

“Kent, you can come out now.” She yelled, stepping back.

Suddenly he appeared behind the discarded toilet and sink that stood at the end of the driveway by the shrubs. He was wielding a chain saw. He pushed a button and it revved to a higher pitch.

“My God! What the hell are you gonna do?” I stepped back. I had to protect my tree.

“The tree comes down,” Dee shouted over the noise.

“No it doesn’t,” I yelled, stepping between her and Kent, who was now only a few feet away.

“Whatever my mother says, goes.” He shouted. “And that eyesore is about to come down. Timbbeer. . .” He shouted over the deafening noise.

“No!” I screamed and leaped in front of him. What was I thinking?  I came face to face with that shark tooth saw and stopped. She jumped in front of me, blocking me. Dee snarled. He stepped back, but held the saw upright, letting the motor idle.

She started screaming and waving her hands. I thought she was going to punch me. Before I knew it I was lunging at her just as the saw whined again. Dee tumbled backward falling into the open toilet, her arms flaying. And as she did so her left arm came in contact with the saw. Off it flew like one of my intended tree limbs. Blood spewed everywhere.

I screamed. I could hear Kent screaming at his mother to get up. “I didn’t mean it,” he shouted. But she lay there motionless looking like a victim from a horror movie.

I shuddered. “My God!” I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Instead of helping her Kent took off in his pickup truck. I stood in shock. For how long I didn’t know. Finally I heard sirens. Someone must have called the cops.

I was starting to come out of it when Ryan pulled up in his work van.

“What the hell happened?” He screamed.

“I. .  I don’t know,” I muttered. “Kent was going to cut down my tree,” I said. At least that’s what I think came out of my mouth. I saw Ryan spring into action and grab a few rags from his van. He wrapped them around Dee’s upper arm, just below the shoulder. He tied a tourniquet around the wound. It still bled profusely, but it would stop. I hoped. It looked pretty gruesome so I turned away, and when I did I spotted her bloody arm near the shrubs that divided our property.

I gagged, and ran toward my front door when Dee yelled that it was all my fault. I said nothing as I approached the stairs. I felt sick and had to sit down. I thought I would pass out.

I took a few deep breaths and heard raised voices. Ryan shouted that it was all Dee’s fault. “You’re always looking for trouble. Bitch! You don’t know when to mind your own damn business. We lose dear friends and I lose clients over your mental instability. Always over something frivolous. Always some stupid feud. Always over nothing. Well, I’m done,” he shouted as he got up and walked to his van.

I saw the ambulance pull up. “She lost a lot of blood,” he said to the paramedics.

“Don’t leave me again,” Dee shouted, clutching her arm. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave,” she begged.

“Watch me,” he shouted and got in his van and sped off just as the cops arrived.

“Oh great,” I mouthed. It was then I looked over and realized Dee was still in the toilet. “How fitting,” I said to myself as I got up and met the cop by my apple tree. It had been spared. I smiled.