The Weird Couple

The rain fell heavy that morning.

I remember climbing down the stairs in twos, my eyes fixed on the house across the street. Mother did say I had a manic obsession with watching people.

Perhaps she was right. Right now though, it doesn't matter.

I had seen the Turners across the street while climbing down the stairs that led up to our home. The newly wed couple that had moved into our neighborhood two months ago. They were always so happy.

Mr Turner was ‘a tall fine specimen of a man’ —that was the way my mother and half the women in Lunaville described him. I thought he looked like superman with jet black hair and huge muscles. His wife was so small beside him. My father used to say she looked so helpless standing beside the monster of a man she married.

I didn't think Mrs Turner minded. She was always smiling so wide when standing beside her husband. Her blue eyes would light up and she would exclaim in that pretty soft voice of hers, giggling.

It felt warm when she did that. When she giggled, when she laughed, when she came over to our home every time Mr Turner left for work and had dinner with us.

I couldn't decide which of my parents liked having Mrs Turner over more. Mother enjoyed her company so much, but all they ever seemed to talk about was Mr Turner— Jackson, as his wife would call him.

Father seemed to like Mrs Turner too. He always fixed his hair with gel anytime she came over. I had never seen him use gel until Mrs Turner moved in. He had asked her what gel her husband used on his hair one afternoon and had never stopped using it whenever she came over.

That morning though, the rain had been heavy. The street roads were washed clean and the familiar petrichor scent filled the air. I had my usual school wear on— a white shirt with plain black trousers. For a twelve year old, it made me feel confident.

I had hit the bottom of the stairs when I saw Mr and Mrs Turner step out of the house.

And for the first time their faces weren't smiling. No, they had a grim look that matched the gray gloomy skies. Mrs Turner looked like she had eaten something bad. Her lips were pressed in a line of disgust and she shied away from her husband's touch.

“Hi, Mrs Turner,” I greeted.

She barely spared me a glance. The world felt colder in that minute and then it grew colder after that.

I walked off to school, ignoring the couple. They were adults. And adults had mood swings. Perhaps they were just tired.

I would be tired too, if I had done nothing but smile for two months. The only time Mrs Turner's smile had dimmed a little was the day before, during lunch.

Father and Mr Turner were at work. I had just arrived from school and was helping myself to a lemonade pack. Mother asked where they came from. Everyone in Lunaville was dying to know.

‘The happy go lucky couple must have such wonderful parents and siblings.’ ‘They had to have come from a rich family.’ ‘Oh no, perhaps Mr Turner is an only child.’ ‘I wouldn't doubt that, he certainly grew healthy! Such a fine specimen of a man.’

And then the women would giggle and move on to Mrs Turner. They didn't talk much about her. Mother called her mousy.

But Mother probably didn't mean it, considering she always invited Mrs Turner to our home.

So when Mother asked where Mrs Turner came from, her smile had dimmed. I felt it because the room grew cold, awkward and silent and the only sound in the air was me sucking from the lemonade pack.

Mrs Turner said they were from far away. Mother smiled and nodded. But later at dinner, she called Mrs Turner a liar and said she was such a pretender.

The next day, everything else happened. The rain, the lack of smile, the cold suffocating air.

And then the fight.

That evening, the Turners' ahome, a place so bright that even the sun would get jealous, turned dark. There were no lights lit but we could hear the screaming and yelling at each other.

Mother and I sat by the window sill, watching the house from afar. They screamed. They threw things at each other. Two months into marriage and the walls came falling apart.

“You did this,” I told Mother and she scoffed. “You took away Mrs Turner's smile and now they're unhappy.”

“That's not how it works,” she defended, walking away from the window sill.

I must have fallen asleep there. When I woke, the skies were bright and sunny. There were no screams. No yells. Just silent bliss. Everything was fine with Turners!

Or so I thought.

I skipped out of the house, only to be held back by my mother. Her eyes were rimmed red as she gazed at the house across.

There were people gathered around the Turner's house. The police, an ambulance, paramedics. They wheeled out two bodies from the Turner's house.

Their skin looked pale and cold.

But when everyone wasn't looking— because no one else would believe me when I said so— their skin turned blue and pasty.

“They were fine yesterday,” Mother whispered as the ambulance drove off. “Such a waste.”

Father cried in the living room. People flocked into our homes, crying, beating their chest, grieving, as if we were the ones who lost the Turners.

That evening, a group of five people dressed in black arrived at the Turners home. There was something odd about them. They all had hats on. The women, three of them, had hats with veils that covered their dresses. The men had suits.

They had to be the Turners’ family, Mother had said. She walked out of the house, obviously eager to meet the people she had so ardently asked for two days ago.

I followed. I was curious too. About how they always seemed happy yet it all switched overnight. And how their skin had changed colors.

The Turners shunned Mother, much to her disappointment. They ignored her, keeping their backs turned to her. Angry, mother grabbed my hand and dragged me back towards our home.

I took one last look at the Turners. Their heads turned then on their neck, like a detachable barbie doll. The three women all had Mrs Turner’s face. Blue eyes, blonde hair and the widest warmest smile.

And the men all looked like superman.

My skin crawled. I tried to scream, but the words got stuck in my throat somehow. Mother pushed me into the house, ranting about how the Turners had no manners and slammed the door.

When I told my parents about all I had seen, they tossed me in a boarding school, saying the discipline would dispel my fantasies.

But every night, I am afraid to close my eyes.

I can still see those heads spinning around with that eerie smile pasted on their faces.