It wasn�t until hundreds of green flies began clinging to the screen at the upstairs window that we suspected there was something terribly wrong at the house next door. Later, several neighbors insisted that they had smelled death for several days but had figured that a stray dog or cat had crawled underneath someone�s house to die. Rocky was the first to spot the flies as we played scrub baseball in the vacant lot between our house and the imposing two-story Amerson house next door.
Mr. Amerson had lived in the upstairs room for as long as I could remember, though we didn�t see him very often. He kept pretty much to himself, and we didn�t bother him except to wave when we�d see him on his way to the outhouse or when we�d meet him on the way back from town with a sack or two of groceries. I�m not sure how old he was because I was only seven, and at that age most everybody in my neighborhood seemed old to me.
Nobody had seen Mr. Amerson for several days, but that was not too uncommon. Even the two families who rented the downstairs rooms sometimes didn�t see him until he came down to collect the rent. Besides, Mrs. Carter, who lived downstairs and who knew him best, later recalled that he had told her he was planning to visit his daughter in Dallas. His absence went unnoticed until the green flies appeared and the smell of death hung heavily over the neighborhood.
When Daddy got home from work, we showed him the flies. He didn�t say anything, but I could see him suddenly pale as if the blood had all drained from his face. Still without a word, he went inside, and I could see him through the kitchen window talking quietly to Mama who suddenly put her hand to her lips like she had done when the word came that her oldest brother had been killed in the war. Daddy walked across the street to Dr. Beck�s house, and we knew that whatever was going on was serious.
Dr. Beck appeared at the door for a moment and listened intently before glancing at the upstairs window next door and retrieving his medical bag from his office. He and Daddy walked quietly to the downstairs door to Mr. Amerson�s room and stood for a moment as if dreading to go in.
The screen door was locked. Daddy took his pocket knife and cut a small slit in the screened wire. Reaching through, he opened it. As he turned momentarily to say something to Dr. Beck, I could see the look of sadness and sickness on his face. The wooden door was unlocked. They both disappeared slowly up the stairs. Almost as suddenly as they had vanished from sight, they both reappeared, and Daddy was retching. I thought he was crying until he stood at the edge of the porch and began vomiting for what seemed like forever. Dr. Beck sat down on the steps, removed his glasses, and began mopping his forehead with the sleeve of his starched white shirt.
Mama and Bill and I were halfway across the vacant lot before Daddy saw us and motioned us back to the house. After composing himself, Daddy came home almost running. All he said to Mama was �It�s bad, Honey. Don�t let the kids out of the house.� Without slowing he went to the telephone and cranked several times to get Miss Violet Bray, the operator. �Violet, this is Charlie Shafer. Call Sheriff Coker and tell him to get up to Winfield. He�s better bring the coroner with him. Mr. Amerson�s dead, been dead several days the looks of it �cause he�s blown up like a balloon about to bust.�
By the time Daddy got off the phone, the word had spread like cheap gossip because half the town was gathering in the lot outside, and everybody was looking up toward the window covered with flies. Dr. Beck was still sitting on the porch mopping his face and keeping onlookers from trying to go up the stairs for a closer look. I expect the crowd numbered almost a hundred by the time we heard the sheriff�s siren topping the last hill on the road from Mt. Pleasant, the county seat.
The hushed crowd parted, and Sheriff Coker motioned for Daddy and Dr. Beck. I was afraid they would want Daddy to go back upstairs, and I never wanted to see my daddy with that look of horror that I had witnessed just a short time before. Instead, the sheriff and coroner tied handkerchiefs tightly around their faces and made their way up the stairs. The crowd remained silent as we heard the shuffling of feet upstairs and saw the sheriff come over to raise the window. The stench of death drifted down to the crowd below as the flies struggled to get inside the screened window.
The next morning we all said our goodbyes to Mr. Amerson. The coroner said the quicker Mr. Amerson was laid to rest, the better. In fact, the body was left overnight in the upstairs room while what little family he had was notified and arrangements made for his burial.
About eight o�clock, the hearse from Mt. Pleasant rolled into the driveway, and several somber looking men unloaded a casket and took it up the stairs. Because of the condition of the body, they simply loaded it into the casket and hauled it away. It was several days before his funeral was held at the local cemetery. We all stood there looking at the fresh mound of dirt, and I thought about Mr. Amerson and the green flies and that pitiful look that graced my father�s face for several days. I thought about what it must have been like to die alone in the upstairs room with no one to help or even to hold his hand in that final moment.
Even though the smell of death lingered, about a week after the graveside service the neighbors went to Mr. Amerson�s room. They brought the bed and linens downstairs and began a large pile of his personal belongings. Several men even stripped the wallpaper from the walls and emptied his closet of the clothes. Everything that reeked of his final days in that lonely upstairs room was added to the growing pile of personal belongings. Not a word was spoken as Daddy doused the pile with coal-oil and threw the match. The smoke billowed upward. We slowly scattered back to our lives, and as far away as we could in our minds, from the smell of death and the swarm of green flies.
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