Meat the Jones’s - There Goes the Neighborhood Part 2
Content warning: animal death, references to cannibalism
Narrator – Male
Mister Jones – Host
Missus Jones – Hostess
Sarah Houser – late twenties, suspicious of the Jones’s
Mike Houser – late-twenties, golf enthusiast
Jeb Nichols – mid-thirties, shameless flirt
Patty Nichols – mid-thirties, neighborhood gossip
Paul Winston – late-thirties, newly promoted in his job
Winnie Winston – late-thirties, unhappily married
Elena Crowley – spry elderly woman, neighbor to Miles Morris
Mother – brings her children to the barbeque
Miles Morris – elderly neighbor, recently widowed (main character in Mr. Morris Digs a Hole)
Narrator: It’s August in the once-friendly neighborhood of Plank. Trees cast late-summer shadows on the quiet streets of middle to upper middle-class homes and quaint cul-de-sacs. In the air, the sound of yacht rock and the smell of burning charcoal. Stapled to the power lines and trees are layers of MISSING posters. On the bottom, nearly forgotten, are pictures of cats with warnings not to chase if spotted. Covering the frayed and crumbling pleas for the safe return of every tabby, Persian, and Maine Coon that disappeared in recent months are the posters for local children Brody Foster and Angela Parker—the former freshly printed, and the latter already beginning to fade on the papers and from the memories of a neighborhood that has already lost so much.
On this Saturday afternoon in August, the people of Plank, who have seen more death this summer than any other, descend on the two-story craftsman just two blocks from an almost identical house that was once home to the Carver family, before the father, Henry Carver, killed his wife, daughter, and a priest in a murderous rage a few months before. This house, however, once belonged to the Miller family—husband, wife, young son and baby daughter. Today, the neighbors have been summoned by the Jones’s who moved into the Miller’s home before anyone realized the Miller family had moved out.
Patty Nichols
Don’t tell me we’re the first ones here.
Jeb Nichols
That’s great! First to check out the bar.
Patty Nichols
(Grabs husband’s arm) Wait, you can’t just go back there.
Jeb Nichols
I can…isn’t that what the invite said? Come on back? Or to the backyard? Or something. I know it said free beer and food. That I remember.
Patty Nichols
We can’t be first, Jeb. We’ll look desperate. (Pause, scoffs) Speaking of desperate, do you see the cut on that dress? (Drolls) Winnie Winston’s lonely again. Paul must be travelling for work.
Jeb Nichols
(Clicks his tongue) I don’t think it suits her.
Patty Nichols
(Smacks her husband’s arm) Of course you do, you pig. That’s what she wants. Don’t stare at her chest or you’ll look desperate too.
Jeb Nichols
(Mutters) Desperate for a beer. I’m going to need it to deal with whatever mess the kids are making at home.
Patty Nichols
Just wait—here they come. We’ll walk in with them.
Jeb Nichols
Whatever you say, dear.
Patty Nichols
(Waves cheerfully) Hi Paul! Winnie! Wow, what a lovely dress. Black before Labor Day? You’re going to set a new trend.
Winnie Winston
Hi Patty. Yeah, I pulled this one out of the back of my closet. Trying to rotate the stock and this one never sees the light of day anymore since we don’t go out anymore, since Paul’s new position—
Jeb Nichols
Paul, you get a promotion?
Paul Winston
(Chortles) Yeah, should be enough to get us out of this hellhole. Hard to believe it used to be a nice place to live. Fires. Earthquakes. Earthquakes in Illinois? Shit…Hope your kids are under lock and key.
Jeb Nichols
Our kids? Oh—you mean because of the Foster’s boy? They still haven’t found him?
Paul Winston
If they did, they would’ve taken all these MISSING posters down, don’t you think?
Winnie Winston
And that girl Angela Parker. She went missing before Brody Foster, didn’t she? So scary.
Paul Winston
Makes me glad we don’t have kids, right?
Winnie Winston
Yeah. (Sarcastically) Right.
Patty Nichols
Wait, back up. You’re moving?
Paul Winston
(Hesitates) Not officially, but yes. (Eyes his wife) Eventually.
Patty Nichols
Hopefully not in the middle of the night, like the Miller’s. There one day, and POOF! Gone the next. I know because their boy—what was his name again? Kevin? Kendal? Something with a K?
Winnie Winston
Kyle.
Patty Nichols
(Waves it away) Anyway, his ball made it over the fence and into our backyard again. I mean, how hard is it to keep your own crap in your own yard? The kid was, what? Eleven?
Winnie Winston
Seven. He was seven. Just a little guy.
Patty Nichols
It’s all the same to me. I’m tired of having to scour the yard for balls just to mow lawn.
Jeb Nichols
(Chides) You mow a lot of lawn, do you Patty?
Patty Nichols
I’m tired for you, okay?
Winnie Winston
What did Kyle’s ball have to do with them moving?
Patty Nichols
Oh, right—his ball showed up in our yard on a Tuesday afternoon, and by Wednesday they were gone. Gone, gone. Vacated the premises, but the weirdest thing was that there was never a moving truck, or anything. I mean, not that I saw. And I live right there, so you’d think I would’ve seen. So…where did they go?
Jeb Nichols
It’s a great mystery. Can we go in now? I’d really like to check out the open bar situation.
Paul Winston
Open bar? I thought it was just beer and food, right?
Jeb Nichols
A guy can dream.
Narrator: A black SUV slows at the curb and both the Nichols’s and the Winston’s turn to look at the latest couple to arrive. PATTY grabs her husband’s arm and hisses his name.
Jeb Nichols (cont)
I’ll be damned.
Patty Nichols
Oh my god. I can’t believe she came.
Winnie Winston
Who? Is that…Sarah and Mike?
Patty Nichols
(Grinning) None other.
Paul Winston
What’s so odd about that?
Jeb Nichols
Don’t encourage her. Let’s go get a drink Paul. (Over his shoulder) Goodbye dear. See you inside. (Pauses) Or outside.
Patty Nichols
Yeah, yeah (waves her husband away and lowers voice) Oh my god, and she wore that dress too.
Winnie Winston
What dress?
Patty Nichols
That dress. They all had one. All three of those hoity toity bitches.
Winnie Winston
Patty, you’ve lost me.
Patty Nichols
Don’t you remember? Sarah Houser, Nina Miller, and Jen Carver. Before Jen—they wore those damn flower-print dresses and pranced around the neighborhood with their tiny bellies even though they just had babies, pushing their three-hundred-dollar strollers, sipping their smoothies, while their perfect kids slept.
Winnie Winston
Oh, really? I never noticed.
Patty Nichols
You can’t tell me you’ve never seen them. I mean, come on. Your husband’s seen them, I can promise you that.
Winnie Winston
(Sourly) I’m at work all day. Maybe they’re out when I’m gone. Or, were out. Wasn’t Jen…
Patty Nichols
The one who got killed? Yeah, big time. What happened to the baby was unforgivable, but can you really blame Henry for what he did to Jen? Mason Giles was hot. Any man would’ve lost it if they found their wife in bed with him.
Winnie Winston
Mason Giles? Was he the…other guy. The one that was…
Patty Nichols
Cut into tiny pieces? Yes. (Sighs) Who knew Henry Carver had it in him. I always thought he was kind of a wimpy, shy sort of guy. Probably why she was playing around with Mason. Mason was a priest—did you know that? (Sighs) That gives him an in anywhere—and I mean, anywhere.
Winnie Winston
I don’t think that’s what happened.
Patty Nichols
Well, that’s not the official story. You can’t speak ill of the dead, and all that—
Winnie Winston
(Sighs) Yet here we are…
Patty Nichols
I’m not saying killing her and Mason Giles was right, but at least that I can understand. If I ever caught Jeb cheating…
Winnie Winston
You don’t…you don’t think he’d do that, do you?
Patty Nichols
(Shrugs) Men are capable of all sorts of evil. Just look at Henry Carver.
Winnie Winston
I need a drink. Let’s go in.
Patty Nichols
You go. I want to catch up with Sarah.
Winnie Winston
But I thought (Pause, sighs) Never mind. I’ll wait with you.
Narrator: SARAH HOUSER looks up at the house that used to belong to Nina Miller, one of her two best friends, and the second she inexplicably lost in the last few months. The first, Jen Carver, to a well-placed bullet to the head. The second, Nina Miller, to…well, SARAH didn’t know what. As PATTY so eloquently shared, the Millers were there one day, then POOF, gone the next. SARAH rubs her damp palms on her green flowered dress and her husband MIKE turns off the SUV’s engine and stills her hand.
Mike Houser
Are you having second thoughts.
Sarah Houser
Yes. Who are these people?
Mike Houser
Isn’t that Winnie Winston and that bigmouth Patty Nichols? They look like they’re ready to eat you alive.
Sarah Houser
Not them. I can handle them. I mean these people in Nina’s house.
Mike Houser
I don’t know, honey. That’s what we’re here to find out.
Sarah Houser
It just doesn’t make sense.
Mike Houser
(Sighs) What happened to Jen and…(Stops, clears his throat) What happened to the Carver’s changed this place. It upset a lot of people. The Miller’s weren’t the only ones to just up and leave—
Sarah Houser
(Sternly) Nina was my best friend, Mike. One of my best friends. She wouldn’t just leave without telling me, especially after what happened to Jen.
Mike Houser
You still can’t reach her? I’ve been trying to get ahold of John, but no luck.
Sarah Houser
No. Now her phone’s been disconnected. Her social media is still there but she hasn’t posted anything new. It’s like they fell off the face of the earth.
Mike Houser
They’ll call. When they’re ready, they’ll call. They probably feel like jerks tucking tail like that. Or maybe it was a family emergency thing. You don’t know.
Sarah Houser
Exactly, I don’t know. But I should. She would’ve told me—John would’ve told you—
Mike Houser
Honey, you’re going to talk yourself in circles again. They’ve moved on. Let’s go meet these new people and get the hell out of here.
Sarah Houser
It’s not right. They shouldn’t be here, whoever these people are. How did they get in so fast? There wasn’t even a FOR SALE sign.
Mike Houser
It’s not hard to sell a house like this if someone doesn’t know—or care—about all the things that have been happening these past few months.
Sarah Houser
You have an answer for everything, don’t you?
Mike Houser
No. I think it’s weird too. And I’m a little pissed that John has texted. But I’m more worried about you than about whatever happened to them.
Sarah Houser
(Sighs) I love you.
Mike Houser
I love you too. You want me to run interference with Patty and Winnie?
Sarah Houser
No. Just don’t leave me alone today.
Mike Houser
Not a chance honey.
MIKE and SARAH get out of the car and head up the driveway to where PATTY and WINNIE are waiting with nervous smiles. SARAH adjusts the fabric of her dress in what has become an anxious tick.
Mike Houser(CONT)
Will you stop messing with that dress? You look fine. That dress is beautiful.
Sarah Houser
It’s a little tighter than last year, but I don’t know. I felt like I should wear it. We all had the same ones—me, Nina…and Jen. Just different colors.
Mike Houser
That dress still fits, hon. You look amazing. Green suits you.
Sarah Houser
Everyone said Nina should’ve had the green one because of her red hair. Red hair, red dress…it never looked quite right.
PATTY waves enthusiastically, but MIKE and SARAH know the score.
Patty Nichols
Mike! Sarah! I wondered if we’d see you today. Where’s the little fella?
Sarah Houser
Uh, our daughter is with Mike’s mother today.
Mike Houser
Yep, she’s getting some time with Grandma, but my mom can only stay a little while. We’re just here to pop in and say hello. Your kiddos already on the swing set?
Patty Nichols
My kids? (Scoffs) They are just old enough to stay home on their own, thank god.
Mike Houser
That’s lucky. We’ve got a long time before that happens.
Patty Nichols
Say Mike, the men are getting drinks already, if you want to head back. We’ll make sure Sarah gets there.
Mike Houser
(Pause) Thanks, but I think I’d like to walk in with my wife on my arm. Show her off to our new neighbors.
Sarah Houser
Mike—
Patty Nichols
So sweet. Sarah, you’ve got yourself a keeper.
Mike Houser
Winnie, how are you doing these days? I haven’t run into Paul on our morning jogs lately.
Winnie Winston
You wouldn’t. He’s been traveling a lot for work.
Patty Nichols
Don’t be so modest. He got a promotion.
Mike Houser
Really? That’s great!
Winnie Winston
Yeah, you’ll have to talk to Paul about it. (Slightly resentful) It’s…real great.
Sarah Houser
Those curtains are the same.
Mike Houser
What’s that honey?
Sarah Houser
The curtains in the windows. They’re the same. These new people didn’t change them out.
Mike Houser
Well that’s—
Winnie Winston
I’ve heard of people selling the curtains with the house. I always thought it was a weird thing to leave behind, but—
Patty Nichols
Well maybe the Jones’s just moved in so fast that they haven’t changed them out yet.
Mike Houser
Exactly. That’s exactly what happened.
Patty Nichols
Sarah, you should know. Is Nina’s new house a completely different style that she wouldn’t need the curtains?
Sarah Houser
(Pause) I don’t know. She hasn’t said.
Patty Nichols
You haven’t been to their new house? Where is it? Are their kids going to be in the same school district? Because your kids are close, right?
Sarah Houser
Yes—
Mike Houser
Patty, is that Jeb back there by the bar? Doesn’t waste any time. I like that.
Patty Nichols
(Sigh, frustrated) Yeah, that’s Jeb. He’s always gotta be the first one at the damn bar.
Mike Houser
I could use a drink. Honey, you thirsty?
Sarah Houser
(Staring up at the house) Huh?
Mike Houser
(Quieter) Would you like a drink, hon?
Sarah Houser
Yeah, yeah sure. (Quietly, to MIKE) Mike, do you see that?
Mike Houser
See what?
Sarah Houser
Up in the window of the corner bedroom. It’s Kyle’s catcher’s mitt.
Mike Houser
(Squints against the sun) I don’t…You sure?
Sarah Houser
Positive.
Mike Houser
Maybe the new people have a kid. A little boy, or—
Sarah Houser
Maybe, but that’s Kyle’s mitt. I’m sure of it. It’s always in that same spot because it drove Nina crazy that he’d always chuck it across his room and into the crook of that window. I’m telling you, it’s Kyle’s.
Mike Houser
(Sighs) Maybe he forgot it.
Sarah Houser
(Incredulously) Mike, you know that kid would never leave his mitt behind—
Jeb Nichols
Mike! How the heck are ya? Let me pour you a drink. What do you like? You’re a vodka man, right?
Mike Houser
Jeb, hey, yeah, vodka tonic. Make it two and make them strong.
Paul Winston
Mike, good to see you.
Mike Houser
And you, Paul. Heard you have some good news. A promotion? Better be good since I’ve been jogging solo.
Mister Jones
(Booms) Welcome! Welcome neighbors!
Narrator: All eyes pitch to the booming voice of the graying but handsome man who has appeared on the back deck, flanked by an auburn-haired wife in a red flowered dress and two children—a boy about seven and a girl still in diapers sitting idly in MISSUS JONES’S arms.
Mister Jones (Cont)
Welcome to our humble home. We’re so happy you all could come. My name is Mister Jones, and this is my wife, Missus Jones, and our two children…I see you’ve already found the bar—wonderful! And you must try the pate. Please, make yourselves at home. (Grins) We certainly have.
Narrator: A short time later, the sprawling backyard is full of curious neighbors from Plank. Most of the men have gathered around the enigmatic MISTER JONES on the stone patio below the deck, where he tends to several sets of ribs of varying sizes on a charcoal grill. He wears an apron stained in red and brown as if he had been careless with the marinade or butchered the meat himself. His wife has returned to the house after brief introductions to put their daughter down for a nap. Their son, whose name was never given, has joined the five other children already playing on the swing-set (which was left behind by the Miller’s), their parents chatting nearby where they keep a close watch on their young like most parents in Plank have become vigilant about after the recent disappearances. JEB NICHOLS has taken up post as the impromptu bartender, where the women suffer his flirtations while he mixes their elaborate drinks. SARAH slowly wanders the yard, eying the house suspiciously, finding no difference between the home now, and the way it used to be when her friend lived there. The plant in the kitchen window, the toy box on the deck, the patio table…all familiar and all disconcerting to SARAH, who hasn’t yet garnered the courage to peer directly into the windows and confirm her suspicions. Even more troubling than the giant pot she swore they fried a turkey in last Thanksgiving set atop a portable burner at the end of the deck—MISTER JONES’s famous stew bubbling inside—was the dress MISSUS JONES had been wearing that sent shivers up SARAH’S spine and solidified the dread already churning in her stomach. She tries to call her old friend, Nina Miller, on the phone again but it goes to a generic recording without the option to leave a message. Among the other guests is an elderly neighbor, ELENA CROWLEY, who has joined PATTY and WINNIE in the center of the yard, where they stand in a loose circle, sharing a platter of pate, appraising new arrivals, and casting interested glances at the broad shoulders of MISTER JONES—whom PATTY has dubbed a silver fox—manning the grill.
Elena Crowley
It’s just more of the same, isn’t it?
Winnie Winston
What’s that, Mrs. Crowley?
Elena Crowley
Oh, please dear. Call me Elena.
Winnie Winston
Elena. What do you mean?
Elena Crowley
Something’s happening here. Here in Plank. I tell you, I’ve never been to church more in my life.
Patty Nichols
You’re talking about Henry Carver? That was two months ago.
Elena Crowley
Two months? You sound like it’s old news when it’s still the biggest thing to ever happen here. And I mean about everything. Unless you haven’t been paying attention.
Patty Nichols
I like to think I know about everything that goes on in this neighborhood.
Elena Crowley
First the cats—everybody forgets about the cats unless they had one—then the kids. The fires—how many were there? A dozen? Twenty? Little fires everywhere.
Patty Nichols
(Mutters) Isn’t that the name of a TV show?
Elena Crowley
That dreadful shaking—the earthquakes that aren’t actually earthquakes. That one last week was the worst. Did you feel it? Shook all the pictures off my walls. (Tsks) I’ve been living here for forty years—longer than you’ve been alive. And I’ve never once been afraid…until now.
Winnie Winston
That’s awfully dark.
Elena Crowley
Dark? No, just honest. I’m afraid. And you should be too. Something…something’s not right.
Patty Nichols
Henry Carver’s going away for a long time. I doubt he’ll be free in any of our lifetimes.
Elena Crowley
If you talk to the Louis’s, they’ll tell you there was much more to that story than just a man killing his family.
Winnie Winston
(Quietly) Should we be talking about this around Sarah? She was Jen’s best friend. (Pause) Wow, this pate…it’s amazing.
Patty Nichols
(Waves it away) She’s all the way over there by the deck. Unless she has supersonic hearing, she can’t hear us. We’re allowed to talk anyway.
Winnie Winston
I was just being respectful.
Elena Crowley
No, no it’s good to talk about this. We have to look out for each other. Maybe it’s high time we established a neighborhood watch. (Pause) Mm, and you’re right about the pate, Winnie. Wonderful. I haven’t had pate in years, but I don’t remember it tasting quite like this.
Patty Nichols
(Fussily) Oh for Christ sakes, let me try it. (Chews, moans) Oh. Shit. Wow. You’re not kidding. (Chews) It’s like an orgasm in my mouth. (Moans, swallows) What were you saying about the Louis’s?
Elena Crowley
Oh, right. Right. The Louis’s—they live right behind the Carver’s. Or, did. The Carver house is tied up in the banks right now…or so I’ve heard.
Winnie Winston
The Louis’s? Are they the ones with all the crosses everywhere?
Patty Nichols
(Snorts) A giant cross in their backyard. It looks like they’re preparing for a crucifixion.
Elena Crowley
That’s the one. We go to the same church—the one where that sweet, young Mason Giles used to preach.
Patty Nichols
Not very priest-ly…what he was doing.
Winnie Winston
Patty, you don't actually know what he was doing.
Elena Crowley
He was a good man. Loved the Lord. He would never do what people are saying he did with that Jen Carver.
Patty Nichols
You might not like it, but the story fits. Henry, always at work. Jen always stuck at home with the baby. Sounds awfully lonely. Winnie, you of all people should know how that feels, especially with Paul’s promotion. Now, give me another bite of that pate before you finish the whole plate.
Elena Crowley
(Croons) Oh my, oh my. She came.
Winnie Winston
What? Who?
Narrator: ELENA gestures to a crumpled old woman shuffling across the backyard. Her skin is as wrinkly and yellow as the polyester shirt that hangs off her rickety bones. She doesn’t acknowledge anyone at the party, just purposefully ambles toward the swing-set, stopping near the foot of the slide, a safe distance from the parents who cast sympathetic glances at the obviously lonely, albeit strange, woman who appears harmless and frail in her advanced age.
Elena Crowley
(Conspiratorially) Ulga. She moved into that ramshackle old house on the corner of my block. It’s been empty for years since the old man who used to live there died. Do you remember him? Kept to himself in that tiny little house. He was in there for weeks before anyone found him. You know what it was? His junk mail was piling up and finally the mailman knocked on the door. Got a whiff of something foul, I can tell you…I think the bank wanted to tear the house down—you’ll never get that smell out—but now…she’s there. Ulga. I don’t know how she stands it. Never even seen her open a window…
Patty Nichols
Do you think she walked here? That’s three blocks. I doubt she drove, I mean look at her. She can’t even stand up straight.
Winnie Winston
Maybe a car service? What is she doing?
Elena Crowley
Watching the children. I’ve seen her doing it before. She doesn’t come out of that house—at least not that I’ve seen—except to watch the kids twice a day. A summer school group trots down our block between the park and the school, and Ulga is out there every day, like clockwork.
Winnie Winston
That’s…creepy.
Elena Crowley
(Shrugs) Or she’s just lonely. It’s hard getting old, especially when you’re alone. And I wonder, too, if she’s keeping an eye on them because the two kids who went missing were both from that same summer school. Just an old lady doing her due diligence. I bet she’d be great in a neighborhood watch.
Winnie Winston
She looks like she wants to eat them.
Patty Nichols
Hey, speaking of being alone, whatever happened with Morris?
Elena Crowley
Morris? Oh—you mean Miles. Miles Morris. My neighbor.
Winnie Winston
Who’s Miles Morris?
Patty Nichols
You know Morris. Him and his wife always handed out the popcorn in little plastic baggies for Halloween.
Winnie Winston
Oh—wait, didn’t his wife pass?
Elena Crowley
Last winter. So very sad. She had a brain aneurysm.
Winnie Winston
I remember that. We were going to go to the funeral, but Paul had to work.
Patty Nichols
Yes, very, very sad. (Pause) But weren’t you…you know?
Elena Crowley
I certainly don’t know what you’re referring to.
Patty Nichols
Come on. We’re all friends here Elena. There’s nothing wrong with—
Winnie Winston
Patty, give it a rest.
Patty Nichols
What?
Elena Crowley
Well, I would rather not talk about it, but if you must know, I was worried about Miles after he lost his wife. He was alone for the first time in I don’t know how many years. Poor man couldn’t even make his own toast, I bet. I made him some casseroles for a while, and I was checking on him a few times a week, but…
Patty Nichols
But what? Spill it, don’t be shy.
Elena Crowley
Well, I don’t know exactly. Things changed, and one day he had this man living with him. I never knew him to have houseguests in all the years I’ve been his neighbor, so naturally I was curious, but he wouldn’t tell me anything other than it’s some distant relative. Some cousin twice removed, or something. (Sighs) I don’t know. (Darkly) He made it clear he doesn’t need me or my casseroles, so…I stick to my own side of the fence now. Good riddance too. He's doing some goofy things over there.
Patty Nichols
Ooooh, do tell!
Elena Crowley
Well, seeing as how he’s shunned me from his life, I don’t mind telling you. Not that it’s a secret. Anyone who looks over my fence would know, but no one ever does so sometimes I feel like the only person alive who knows what’s going on over there—and truthfully I don’t really know what’s going on over there, but it’s something, and it’s so bizarre I don’t know what to make of it.
Winnie Winston
So what is it?
Elena Crowley
A hole. He’s digging a hole. It’s all covered—looks like one of those archeological dig sites in his backyard—but if the wind picks up the tarp just right, you can see it. A giant hole.
Patty Nichols
What’s it for? He digging to China?
Elena Crowley
Or to hell.
Winnie Winston
(Deep breath) Okay, I think I need a refill.
Patty Nichols
Grab us another tray of pate! This stuff is the shit. (Then, to ELENA) So, Elena, tell me more about this hole…
Narrator: JEB NICHOLS hands a fresh cocktail to one of the parents who then returns to the swing set to watch his children play. WINNIE approaches JEB and his eyes snag on the cut of her dress. She doesn’t pretend she doesn’t notice.
Winnie Winston
Jeb, up here.
Jeb Nichols
(Laughs sheepishly) Sorry, I can’t help it. They’re glorious.
Winnie Winston
What are?
Jeb Nichols
Your breasts.
Winnie Winston
(Chuffs) You’re too kind. At least someone notices.
JEB glances at PAUL, whose back is turned while he is absorbed in his conversation with MIKE near the grill.
Jeb Nichols
You’d have to be blind not to. What are you drinking?
Winnie Winston
This was a chardonnay, but I could use something stronger. Much stronger.
Jeb Nichols
I can handle that. If I remember right, you’re a rum gal.
Winnie Winston
I am. How did you know?
Jeb Nichols
Two years ago, right here, actually. The Miller’s anniversary party. You were drinking rum and cokes all night.
JEB begins mixing alcohol in a cocktail shaker.
Winnie Winston
I can’t believe you remember that.
Jeb Nichols
I remember that…and the dress you were wearing that day. Red and tight with that slit up your leg.
Winnie Winston
(Lowers voice) You know, my husband’s over there by the grill. He could hear you.
Jeb Nichols
And yet he won’t because he’s not listening. You wouldn’t need to wear a dress like that if he did.
Narrator: SARAH has been taking videos on her phone of the yard and the outside of the house. Slowly, she climbs the stairs to the deck and points her phone at the toy box beside the patio table. With a shaking hand, she lifts the lid, looks inside, then lets the lid slam back down. She calls out to her husband, but her voice is shaky and doesn’t make it to where MIKE stands engrossed in a conversation with PAUL a few feet behind MISTER JONES at the grill. PAUL is asking MIKE how SARAH is holding up in light of recent events, and MIKE realizes he hasn’t seen his wife in a while, though he promised not to leave her alone. He spots her when she is stumbling down the deck stairs in his direction. She falls breathless into his arms and pulls him a few more feet away from MISTER JONES.
Mike Houser
Honey? Honey, are you okay? What is it? What’s the matter? I was just talking to Paul—
Sarah Houser
(Shakily) The toybox. Look. Look at my phone, I have a video.
Mike Houser
(Looking at her phone) It’s…toys.
Sarah Houser
(In hushed voice) It’s their toys. Kyle and Lyla’s. The kids. It’s their toys. I might’ve been wrong about the catcher’s mitt, but I’m not wrong about this.
Mike Houser
Okay—
Sarah Houser
No, look. Really look, Mike. We got Kyle that airplane, and Lyla that bubble mower. It has her goddamn initials on it, Mike!
Mike Houser
Sarah, let’s just stay calm.
Sarah Houser
No. Why wouldn’t they take their toys, Mike? The curtains I can understand. But the kids’ toys? What happened to them? Where are they?
Mike Houser
Honey, honey, come here. Just come here. You’ve got to try this pate.
Sarah Houser
What? No, damnit. I don’t want any goddamn pate.
MIKE shoves a piece of pate in her mouth and she coughs on it.
Mike Houser
Just try it.
Sarah Houser
(Coughs) Stop it. I’m not here to eat. I want to know what happened to my friend. And you should be worried too. You’ve known John for years, and it’s like you don’t even care that he’s gone.
Mike Houser
(Licking his lips) I do, Sarah. I do care. I’m worried too. I haven’t been out to golf since…(Sighs) But what would you like me to do?
Sarah Houser
I want you to figure this out with me. We’ve got to find them.
Mike Houser
Find them? How are we going to do that? They’re not here. That’s not what today is about, and now is not the time to lose it—
Sarah Houser
Now is the perfect time to lose it. I want answers. Who are these people? The fucking Jones’s? And did you see—
Mister Jones
Hey Mike? It is Mike, isn’t it? Come on up to the grill, I want to show you something.
MISTER JONES looks over his shoulder at MIKE and then PAUL, motioning both to join him at the grill.
Mister Jones (cont)
You too. Paul, is it? Have you tried the pate? There are a few platters making the rounds.
Paul Winston
I did. It’s phenomenal.
Mister Jones
If you liked that, check out these ribs.
Paul Winston
Oh, wow, that’s a hell of a rack.
Sarah Houser
(Hushed) Talk to him. Ask him about the Miller’s.
Mister Jones
(To PAUL) What’d I tell ya. Never seen ribs like that, have you?
Paul Winston
(Pause) No, actually I haven’t.
Mister Jones
Come on up here, Mike. Check this out.
Sarah Houser
(Hushed) Ask him, Mike. If you don’t, I will.
Mike Houser
(To SARAH) Okay, okay, honey, just give me a minute. (Louder) Mister Jones—you got a first name?
Mister Jones
If you feel like dropping the Mister, that’s more than all right by me. Call me Jones.
Mike Houser
Right. Okay. Jones. I’ve been meaning to ask you—
Mister Jones
Check these out. Sexy right?
Mike Houser
(Sucks in a breath) What? The…the ribs?
Mister Jones
Different sizes are the key to different textures and diverse flavors. See, the little ones don’t take but a few minutes to cook. So tender, the little ones.
Mike Houser
I’ve never seen ribs that small. What kind of animal did you say they were?
Mister Jones
(Cheerily) I didn’t! It’s a surprise. Where I come from, young ribs are a delicacy.
Mike Houser
Young ribs…and where are you from, exactly? My wife and I were—are—friends with the Miller’s. They used to live here.
Paul Winston
(Mutters) Goddamn those ribs are small.
Mister Jones
Smells good though, don’t they? Just wait until I pull the steaks out. They’re best bloody so they’ll go on while the ribs rest. Just a quick kiss on the flames and Mwah!
Mike Houser
Steaks too, wow.
Mister Jones
I guarantee you’ve never had meat like this.
Paul Winston
So, is it venison? Buffalo—bison? Is it bison? No, too small. Muskrat? Do people eat muskrat?
Mister Jones
No no no. Trade secret, and it must stay that way, my new friend.
Mike Houser
Speaking of friends—the Miller’s—
Mister Jones
Oh, right, right. The Miller’s. Wonderful little family. Just delicious—
Mike Houser
Did you just say—
Mister Jones
These ribs! They’ll be just delicious.
Nearby, ELENA nudges PATTY’s shoulder.
Elena Crowley
Patty, dear, who is that?
Patty Nichols
Who? The one shaking like a leaf? That’s Sarah Houser.
Elena Crowley
No, I mean who is that in the bushes back there? Looks like Winnie.
Patty Nichols
(Scoffs) Ugh, of course it is.
Elena Crowley
What’s the matter with Sarah?
Patty Nichols
Her friends are dropping like flies.
Elena Crowley
Oh?
Patty Nichols
(Mutters) Guess her life isn’t perfect, after all.
Narrator: PATTY is right in her assessments: SARAH is shaking like a leaf and her friends have dropped like flies. PATTY is almost too busy reveling in the other woman’s misfortunes to notice the screeching. Several of the other guests avert their attention from their casual conversations and their children to a sound no one can place, ear-splitting squeals from the far side of the yard. A few moments later, a ball of flames skitters erratically across the grass. PAUL looks away from the too-small ribs on the grill and is the first to comment on the shrieking ball.
Paul Winston
What the hell is that?
Patty Nichols
It’s Sarah Houser losing her damn mind.
Paul Winston
No, that. That little thing. Is it…is a ball of fire?
Elena Crowley
Listen to that noise. (Gasps) Sweet Jesus.
Paul Winston
That’s a fucking cat.
Mike Houser
Holy shit. What the hell is that?
Paul Winston
It’s a fucking cat on fire. Is there a hose? Get the hose! Someone get the hose! Jones—get the damn hose!
Mister Jones
(Stammers, surprised) Hose?
Mike Houser
I got it! I know where it is.
MIKE dashes to the hose at the side of the house, turns it on, and grabs the nozzle. Meanwhile, the cat continues its raucous howling.
Paul Winston
Get it! Spray it!
Mike Houser
It’s going for the swing set. (Shouts, waves his arms at the parents) Get those kids out of there!
Elena Crowley
Ulga! Ulga, dear, come out of the way.
Patty Nichols
Jeb? Jeb—where the hell is my husband?
Elena Crowley
(Mutters) Have you checked the bushes dear?
Patty Nichols
What?
Mike Houser
I got it. I got it.
Paul Winston
Everybody, give him some room.
Narrator: The parents corral their children away from the swing-set, and the rest give MIKE a wide berth as he aims the hose at the flaming cat. It bounces on melted paw pads, arching its back under the spray, then finally collapses in a smoking, eyeless, hairless lump of charred flesh and barred teeth. Whimpers sound from around the yard and mothers cover their children’s eyes to shield them from the roasted beast.
Mike Houser
Holy shit. (Breathes, horrified) It’s still breathing.
Paul Winston
Back. Back. Everyone stay back! Get those kids out of here.
Mike Houser
What do we do, Paul? (Swallows hard) What do we do?
Paul Winston
(In awe) Hell if I know. Hell if I know.
Mike Houser
(Hisses) How is it still alive?
Paul Winston
We have to mercy kill it.
Mike Houser
Mercy kill?
Paul Winston
Put it out of its misery. I mean, look at it. You can see its ribs sticking out. You can see its insides, Mike.
Mike Houser
Okay, mercy kill it, but with what?
Paul Winston
I don’t know, man. I’ve never killed anything before.
Mike Houser
(Frantic) Oh shit. Oh shit. We should’ve just let the damn thing burn.
Paul Winston
No, no that’s a horrible death.
Mike Houser
This isn’t any better.
Paul Winston
A shovel. We need a shovel. Something with a sharp edge. (Yells) Jones! We need a shovel!
Narrator: MISTER JONES, still at his place in front of the grill, doesn’t have a chance to answer. As if he had tracked the burning cat to this very backyard, an elderly man covered in dirt stalks from the front yard to the back with a pointed shovel in hand. His name is MILES MORRIS, the very same MILES MORRIS who stopped accepting ELENA CROWLEY’s casseroles, with the strange house guest (a second cousin, twice removed?) and the hole to China (or Hell) in his backyard. He isn’t there for the party, just the cat.
Miles Morris
Out of the way, please.
Patty Nichols
Who the hell is that?
Elena Crowley
Oh my, that’s Miles Morris. (Calls out) Miles! What are you doing, dear?
Miles Morris
What needs to be done.
Narrator: There is a collective shriek from the neighbors when Miles brings the tip of the shovel down on the cat’s neck, ending its agony. Once he is certain the cat is dead, what was left of the head effectively removed from what was left of the body, Miles Morris sets the shovel on his shoulder and skulks away. Quietly, almost discreetly, MISSUS JONES steps out of the house and onto the deck, carrying a cloth in her hands.
Elena Crowley
Miles—wait!
Patty Nichols
Did he just seriously kill that cat?
Paul Winston
We haven’t seen any cats in this neighborhood for a while. Was it yours, Jones?
Mister Jones
Mine? Heck no. We don’t have a cat. It sure didn’t come with the house.
Sarah Houser
What did you just say?
Missus Jones
Dear, what was all the commotion? You’re going to wake the baby.
Mister Jones
Oh, hello darling. You just missed it, I’m afraid. A flaming cat ran through the yard.
Missus Jones
(Sighs) That blasted Firebug.
Paul Winston
Fire-what?.
Missus Jones
We heard there were a lot of fires in this neighborhood. You must have a firebug. I’m just glad the baby wasn’t awake to see it.
Mister Jones
Yes, that is fortunate.
Paul Winston
What do you want to do with it now?
Mister Jones
Do with what? The cat?
Paul Winston
It’s your yard, man. We can’t just leave it out here. There’re kids around.
Sarah Houser
(Whispers) Mike. I knew it.
Mike Houser
Just a second honey.
Missus Jones
How is the grilling coming dear? Is it time to set the table?
Mister Jones
It’s coming along. You may as well get the table set up. Though I think we won’t have enough chairs.
Narrator: MISSUS JONES unfolds the cloth in her hands and spreads out a white flowered tablecloth that ELENA CROWLEY recognizes as the very gift she embroidered for Nina Miller for her anniversary two years ago, and spreads it over the patio table.
Elena Crowley
That—that’s the tablecloth—No, it can’t be. They wouldn’t just leave it here.
Patty Nichols
What are you babbling about?
Elena Crowley
They said they loved it so much.
Sarah Houser
Mike—
Paul Winston
(Angrily) Can I get a bag, or something? If you’re not going to clean up this cat, then I will. The children are crying.
Mister Jones
Oh, yes, sorry. That damned cat. (To his wife) Honey, do you know where to find the garbage bags?
Sarah Houser
(Through gritted teeth) Underneath the sink, next to the cleaning supplies.
Mike Houser
Sarah—
Missus Jones
I’ll go check. Be right back.
Mike Houser
Honey, are you okay?
Sarah Houser
No. Mike—
Mister Jones
Grab the bowls while you’re at it dear. As many as we have.
Sarah Houser
(Bites out) They’re in the cupboard to the right of the sink.
Mike Houser
Sarah, honey, what are you doing?
Sarah Houser
Did you see her dress, Mike? It’s her dress. Nina’s red dress.
Mister Jones
As soon as my wife brings out the bowls and cutlery, you can dig into the stew that’s been simmering all morning. The grill meat will take a while yet, but please, help yourselves to the stew. I’m dying to know what you all think of it.
Paul Winston
(Mutters) There’s still a dead cat on your lawn, man.
Jeb Nichols
Well I’m famished. Don’t mind if I do!
Patty Nichols
Jeb? Where the hell have you been?
Jeb Nichols
What are you talking about? I’ve been here the whole time. Whoa, what the hell is that?
Patty Nichols
A dead cat.
Jeb Nichols
A dead—
Elena Crowley
Been here the whole time, huh?
Jeb Nichols
How did I miss a dead cat?
Elena Crowley
Same way you missed your fly.
Jeb Nichols
My fly?
Sheepishly, he understands and turns away from his wife to zip his pants but it’s too late. She’s seen enough.
Patty Nichols
(Hisses) Your pants? Jeb.'
Jeb Nichols
What? (Shrugs) I had to take a piss.
Patty Nichols
I can’t believe you. I just can’t.
Jeb Nichols
You can’t believe I had to piss?
Patty Nichols
I don’t—
Winnie Winston
Oh my gosh…is that…is that a dead cat?
Narrator: PAUL stares at his wife, who appeared at his side seemingly out of nowhere. He doesn’t immediately notice the crinkles in her dress or the small pieces of leaves in her black hair, so stunned he is yet by the charred animal at his feet.
Paul Winston
Are you kidding?
Winnie Winston
Is that what all the fuss was about?
Paul Winston
You didn’t see? The fucking cat was in flames, and you missed it?
Patty Nichols
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Her?
Jeb Nichols
(Shrugs) What?
Patty Nichols
She has leaves in her hair, Jeb. You think I’m stupid?
Jeb Nichols
Patty, dear, you’re making a scene.
Patty Nichols
She couldn’t have made it any easier for you in that dress.
Paul Winston
Winnie, what the fuck’s she talking about?
Winnie Winston
Nothing, Paul. That bitch never stops flapping her lips.
Patty Nichols
That bitch? That bitch? You disappear with my husband and you call me a bitch?
Winnie Winston
Tell me, how long was it before you pulled your nose out of Sarah’s business to notice that either of us were even gone?
Patty Nichols
Oh, that’s it—
Paul Winston
Winnie, I swear to god, you better start talking.
Winnie Winston
(Scoffs) You’re no better. This—this dress is what I have to do to get your attention, and it doesn’t even work.
Paul Winston
You didn’t wear this for me.
Winnie Winston
Not today. Not anymore. What’s the point?
Missus Jones
Oh dear, what’s going on here?
Mister Jones
The bowls—wonderful!
Missus Jones
In the cupboard to the right of the sink, just like she said. What did I miss?
Mister Jones
I think we’re missing some key facts about our neighbors. You have that bag for the cat? I wonder why Miles didn’t just take the damn thing with him.
Mike Houser
Do you know Miles? Miles Morris?
Narrator: Amid the ruckus, a woman—one of the mothers of the children who had been playing on the swing-set—becomes anxious. Her daughter Annie is no longer cowering at her side, covering her eyes against the burnt abomination on the Jones’s lawn. The MOTHER scans every face in the yard then begins calling her daughter’s name.
Mother
Annie! Have you seen her? Annie! She was just right here.
Sarah Houser
(Whispers) Mike, let’s get out of here.
Mister Jones
What was that dear?
Sarah Houser
N-Nothing.
Mother
Annie! Did anyone see where she went?
Paul Winston
Maybe she was freaked out by the cat and she’s hiding. Check the bushes.
Winnie Winston
No, no, she definitely wasn’t in there.
Paul Winston
(Incredulously) What?
Mister Jones
Any takers on the stew? My wife found the bowls and cutlery.
Sarah Houser
This is wrong. I’ve seen enough (Whispers) Mike, we need to go and call the police.
Jeb Nichols
Hell, I’ll eat.
Patty Nichols
Jeb! You will not!
Jeb Nichols
What else would you like me to do, sweetheart?
Patty Nichols
(Through gritted teeth) We’re not staying, darling. We have something disgusting to talk about at home.
Jeb Nichols
Disgusting is that dead cat. Whoa. That smell. (Hoots and waves the air in front of his nose).
Paul Winston
You’d better back away. Back the fuck away right now or I’ll punch your lights out.
Jeb Nichols
(Chuckles) Come on, we’re all friends here.
Paul Winston
No, Jeb, we’re not.
Mister Jones
Yes, yes, please come. Try the stew.
Mother
(More frantic) Annie!
Sarah Houser
Mike I’m serious. She’s wearing her dress.
Mike Houser
Where are we on that bag for the cat?
Sarah Houser
Are you even listening to me?
Mike Houser
I am, honey, I just want to take care of this before anyone else sees it.
Sarah Houser
The fucking cat? We can all see it. We can all smell it. That—and whatever the fuck else this nutjob is cooking.
Mister Jones
Excuse me? Did you just call me—
Sarah Houser
You heard what I said. I don’t know why I’m trying to hide it. You people—what did you do, huh?
Mike Houser
Sarah—
Sarah Houser
No, Mike, she was my best friend. The only one I had left. Now she’s gone, and that woman—Missus Jones—is wearing her dress.
Missus Jones
I beg your pardon?
Sarah Houser
Don’t play dumb. That dress—it isn’t yours, is it?
Missus Jones
There are a lot of dresses that look like this. You’re wearing one yourself.
Sarah Houser
Exactly. Exactly. That was Nina’s dress. We all had the same ones. Hers was red, just like yours.
Mister Jones
Just what are you trying to say, young lady?
Sarah Houser
I think you know what I’m trying to say. You want to tell me, or you want to tell it to the cops?
Missus Jones
Oh dear.
Jeb Nichols
Excuse me, Sarah, I’m going to help myself to this delicious stew.
Narrator: JEB NICHOLS has made his way through the fray and up the deck steps. He takes a bowl—from the stack MISSUS JONES procured from the cupboard to the right of the sink—and silver spoon, and lifts the lid of the simmering pot. He takes a deep breath and swirls the contents with a ladle, bringing vegetables he recognizes and bits of meat he doesn’t to the surface.
Jeb Nichols
Mm, what is that? Venison?
Mister Jones
No, no. (Chuckles) Something a little more exotic.
Jeb Nichols
More exotic than venison?
Mother
I need everyone’s help. I need to find my Annie. She’s not in the bushes. She’s not hiding behind the bar. She isn’t anywhere.
Jeb Nichols
Mm, wow, you weren’t kidding. This is delicious. You guys should try it.
Mother
Call the police. Call the police. We’ve got to find her!
Elena Crowley
Say, where is Ulga?
Patty Nichols
Who the hell is Ulga?
Elena Crowley
The old lady. The one we talked about. She was just here, now she’s gone.
Mother
(Screams) Who cares about an old lady? I can’t find my daughter. Kids are going missing all the time.
Elena Crowley
Perhaps your daughter is with Ulga. The woman really loves children.
Patty Nichols
Jeb, put that goddamn bowl down and get over here. We’re leaving.
Mister Jones
Ribs are done! Who wants first cut? Don’t forget, I’ve got rare steaks to follow. Rare in cook and rare in cut. I promise, it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.
Mother
Are you all crazy? How can you talk about food? (Hysterical) Where is my daughter?
Mister Jones
I’m sure she’ll turn up. Have you checked the bushes? I thought Paul said to check the bushes.
Jeb Nichols
Definitely not in there.
Paul Winston
You son of a bitch. Let’s get out of here, Winnie. I’m not listening to any more of this.
Winnie Winston
No, you know what? I think I’ll have some ribs. Mister Jones? Set me up.
Mister Jones
First up gets the choicest cuts. The smaller the rib, the tenderer the meat.
Narrator: The MOTHER calls the police and remains on the line with the 911 operator while scouring the yard for her child, and her husband leaves to search the neighboring houses. MISTER JONES has taken all the ribs—eight racks, pairs of each descending in size—off the grill and his wife has come out with a platter of what might’ve been roughly cut, raw steaks. Meanwhile, JEB hungrily devours the stew, swallowing chunks of meat whole. WINNIE, more out of spite than actual hunger, sinks her teeth into the ribs and immediately feels…wrong. Like she’s just taken a bite of something horrid and forbidden. The ribs are small. Too small. Tiny and delicate, a bone breaks in her hand. Then, her tongue tingles and the taste changes into something truly delectable and she greedily sucks the thin strip of marrow from within the bone.
Winnie Winston
What kind of ribs are these?
Mister Jones
The once-in-a-lifetime kind. Not muskrat, though it has been suggested.
Elena Crowley
Oh my, those are very, very small ribs.
Mister Jones
Missus Crowley, is it? Pleased to make your acquaintance. You get second choice of the racks.
Elena Crowley
Oh, no, I was just curious. I couldn’t possibly eat a whole rack of ribs.
Mister Jones
Then just take a few bones from this small one here. Don’t worry, there’s plenty for everyone.
Jeb Nichols
(Growls) So. Fucking. Delicious.
Mister Jones
What about you, Mike? Would you or your lovely wife care for some ribs? Or how about a tenderloin? I’m throwing the steaks on right now.
Mike Houser
Oh, no, I think Sarah’s ready to leave.
Sarah Houser
(Growls) Not anymore. I want to be here when the police arrive so I can tell them all about what you and your sick family did.
Mister Jones
(Exasperated sigh) What in hell’s name do you keep going on about?
Sarah Houser
You! You fucking people.
Mike Houser
Sarah—
Sarah Houser
No, no, I don’t care. I don’t care who hears or what anyone thinks. This is wrong. We all know it’s wrong. Where are the Miller’s? Where are they? Their stuff is here. Their clothes are here. They didn’t leave. What did you do to them?
Mister Jones
(Chuckles darkly) Someone’s been hitting the bar a little hard…
Sarah Houser
And what are you all doing? Why are you eating the meat?
Elena Crowley
Oh my word, it is delicious, isn’t it? I don’t want to like it, but I do. Sarah, dear, you must try it.
Mister Jones
What about you, Mike? Share your wife’s sentiments?
Mike Houser
Well, it is weird. They were our friends. You have to understand—it’s highly unlikely that they would just up and leave without telling us.
Mister Jones
But they did, didn’t they?
Mike Houser
(Painfully) Yeah.
Mister Jones
Maybe they weren’t who you thought they were.
Mike Houser
It’s just…
Mister Jones
(Lightens tone) Are you a golfing man?
Mike Houser
I am, actually. I used to go with John every Sunday.
Mister Jones
Now that we’re settled in, I’d love to hit the links. You interested?
Mike Houser
Yeah. Yeah. Definitely.
Sarah Houser
You can’t be serious, Mike. You cannot go golfing with him.
Mike Houser
Sarah, I’m just being neighborly.
Mister Jones
Here, gnaw on this while you talk it over.
Narrator: MISTER JONES hands MIKE a portion of ribs. The steaks sizzle on the grill. Both WINNIE and ELENA chew all the meat from the small bones then crack them open. When their platters are finished, they lick their fingers and leave a ring of rib grease around their lips. JEB dips the ladle into the vat of stew and fills his bowl for a second time, splashing oily stew on ELENA’s embroidered tablecloth and the deck floor. Then he prowls down into the yard and shovels a spoonful into WINNIE’s ready mouth. She groans, as if it is the most decadent and delicious stew she’s ever eaten. PATTY and PAUL protest but JEB is suddenly overcome with hunger beyond the need for food. He drops the bowl and wraps his arm around the front of WINNIE’s dress. WINNIE, eyes glazed and filled with want, sinks her back against his body and drops the plate of spent ribs on the grass, gnawing on the bone she still holds in her hand.
Paul Winston
What the fuck you think you’re doing?
Winnie Winston
What’s the matter, Paul?
Paul Winston
Winnie—the fuck—
Winnie Winston
Cat got your tongue?
WINNIE, JEB and ELENA laugh hysterically.
Elena Crowley
(Laughing) Oh, my, you must try these ribs.
Mister Jones
How about this?
Narrator: MISTER JONES rips a bloody corner of steak from one of the cuts sizzling on the grill and tosses it into ELENA’s mouth. She catches it between her teeth and chews greedily, scorching her tongue and sending small rivulets of blood down her chin. The parents of the children who haven’t gone missing usher their young out of the yard and down the driveway to their car. The MOTHER, who still hasn’t found her little Annie, calls after them to wait, to help her. No one seems to be listening and she doesn’t understand how no one cares that her daughter has disappeared. Her husband is still down the block, searching yard by yard, and her other child, a boy of ten, begins poking the body of the dead cat with a stick. His MOTHER screams Annie’s name, and pleads with the police on the other end of her cell phone to hurry. They say an off-duty officer who lives in the neighborhood will be the first to respond. The Jones boy, who has been quiet and unintroduced throughout the whole debacle, joins the other boy beside the cat. ELENA has finished her chunk of rare meat and opens her mouth for a second piece. MISTER JONES laughs and happily obliges.
Missus Jones
(Laughing) Wow, she really likes the meat, huh?
Mike Houser
Can you blame her? It’s delicious. You’re one heck of a grill master, Mister Jones.
Mister Jones
Why thank you. (To wife) Dear, did you hear? Mike and I are going golfing.
Sarah Houser
Not a chance in hell.
Paul Winston
Jeb, I’m only going to say this once. (Growls) Get your goddamn hands off of my wife.
Jeb Nichols
You know, I don’t think I will.
Elena Crowley
Oh, oh dear. I don’t feel so well.
Missus Jones
Did you eat too much, darling?
Mister Jones
No such thing. This is high quality stuff. Upper middle class, if you know what I mean (raucous laugh).
Winnie Winston
I’ll take some more, if you’ve got it. Just a little. Those ribs…
Jeb Nichols
Mouthwatering, just like you.
Patty Nichols
(Incredulously) Jeb…
Sarah Houser
Take off that dress, Missus Jones.
Missus Jones
Excuse me?
Sarah Houser
You heard me. Take off that fucking dress. That was her dress, you fucking psycho.
Missus Jones
I’m a psycho? Your veins look like they’re ready to pop and you’re the one trying to undress me.
Jeb Nichols
You should get undressed too, Winnie.
Winnie Winston
(Licking her fingers) Why don’t we all get undressed?
Sarah Houser
You’re crazy. You’re all crazy!
Elena Crowley
I think I need to sit down. I’m so dizzy. I’m afraid I might faint.
Mister Jones
Take a load off, Elena. Would you like some stew? Might settle your stomach. Dear? (to his wife) Would you grab Elena a bowl?
Elena Crowley
Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Did you see Miles when he was here? He looked awfully thin, didn’t he? I don’t know why he won’t eat my casseroles anymore. Maybe I could bring him a bowl of stew, if you don’t mind me taking some to-go.
Missus Jones
Coming right up. (To Elena) Here you go dear.
Elena Crowley
Missus Jones, did you see Miles? Or were you still in the house when he came over? Did you invite him? I don’t know why he didn’t stay. Just came to kill that damned cat…
Missus Jones
There, there dear. You’re going to be fine.
Elena Crowley
It’s just, I’ve been so lonely. So lonely for so long. And after his wife died, I thought Miles…I don’t know. It’s silly but I thought we’d be lonely together.
Mister Jones
Anyone else want a slice? Prime cuts over here. Better grab some while they’re tender. Paul? How about you? (Pause) Hey, where did my knife go?
Paul Winston
(Growls) Jeb, I warned you…
Narrator: No one noticed when PAUL WINSTON quietly took MISTER JONES’S serrated steak knife from beside the grill. WINNIE’s eyes are closed in the throes of ecstasy, JEB’s lips leaving a greasy trail down her neck, when PAUL takes JEB by the shoulder and buries the knife in his side. WINNIE falls from his arms, stumbling back to see why her lover has so irreverently tossed her away, then screams at the sight of blood quickly staining his shirt around the knife PAUL continues to twist until his wrist has turned as far as it will go. He pulls the knife free and is about to stab again when PATTY lunges at him, carrying the dead cat by the tail and swinging it at PAUL’S face. Its charred flesh, still warm, breaks apart, pieces of its gnarly remains scattering throughout the yard and around the crumpled form of ELENA CROWLEY who sits cross-legged on the grass, crying into a bowl a stew. Some of the cat’s bones fall into the bowl, splashing hot stew onto ELENA’s chest and lap. She screams and MISSUS JONES bends to clean up the old woman with one of the Miller’s dishcloths. PATTY, undeterred, throws what’s left of the cat at PAUL, who is momentarily stunned by the burnt flesh stuck between his teeth and the animal’s gummy entrails strung around his hands. WINNIE is writhing on the ground, and JEB falls beside her, choking on the blood that rolls up his throat. PATTY screams his name and covers his wound with her hand. The boys, who had been prodding the dead cat, begin prodding WINNIE and JEB and PATTY with the sharp ends of their sticks. Meanwhile, ELENA picks pieces of the disintegrated cat from her stew and finds something curious.
Elena Crowley
Oh my. Oh my. Oh my, what is this?
Mister Jones
Oh, an index finger. Honey! Looks like this one missed the grinder!
Narrator: A short time later, Officer Trent Walters arrives on the scene. He had investigated the now infamous murders at the Carver house a few months earlier, had smelled the burning flesh of an infant and watched the coroner collect the tiny pieces of a priest named Mason Giles off a grisly kitchen floor. At twenty-seven, Officer Walters thought he had already experienced the most horrific horrors he’d ever encounter in his career…then, he is summoned on a beautiful Saturday afternoon to the barbeque.
Living just a few streets away, he had received an invitation to attend and briefly considered going. Preferring a quiet day at home, he declined. Now, with his gun and badge, he is greeted by screams. After an appraisal of the scene, he doesn’t know where he is needed first.
There is a man on the ground, coughing and sputtering blood, and a woman hysterical at his side, shielding herself and the man from two young boys who viciously whip them with bloodied sticks. Another man, with streaks of black soot across his face and hands, and what look like a string of intestines hanging from around his neck, is dragging a woman in a lowcut black dress across the lawn by her hair. She is twisting in his grip, lipstick and grease and blood ringed around her mouth. Near a smoking grill, and old woman he recognizes from church as ELENA CROWELY rocks helplessly on the ground, seemingly in a daze. On the ground in front of her is a spilled bowl of stew and what appears to be small rib bones. A few feet from ELENA on the other side of the grill, a woman in a green flowered dress is tearing at a woman in a red flowered dress, cussing and spitting and scratching along the ground. The only one who seems to notice that Officer Walters has arrived is a woman with tears streaming down her face and a feral look in her eyes. She lunges at him, nails drawn like she means to rip him limb from limb. There is something small and dark in her hand—a phone, he realizes, just before he pulls his service weapon. She snarls, her teeth barred, lips peeled back over her gums, and he raises his gun. The woman goes down with one hit to the side of her head with the butt of his pistol. He then hears the police dispatcher’s voice on the other end of the line and retrieves her phone from her limp hand to ask for backup.
And watching it all, from the comfort of two lawn chairs, are a broad-shouldered man wearing a brown-stained apron, and another dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, talking about golf, sipping drinks and enjoying the afternoon like a couple of old friends.