Mr. Jones always was
a bit of a freak,
he was so reclusive,
kept himself pent-up
in his ramshackle abode
most of the time.
And talk about elusive.
He'd float back
and forth to his
inconspicuous
beat up 'ole Rambler
in between commercials.
The weird hours he kept
had the neighbors talking,
staying up long into the night,
light pouring from
a sliver in his garage door,
clanging metal,
sawing away on things.
Somebody said
they heard a cat scream.
It came as no surprise to anybody
that he was
the number-one suspect
in the disappearance
of two school children
from the next town over.
The mounted
roadkill-skulls
on his mailbox
may have been a clue.
One of them was human.