The trailer on lot 37 sat vacant for years. Trash began to build up around it. Dogs and cats roamed in the yard. Sometimes at night, you’d see an opossum scurrying around; eyes glowing in the darkness.

There was a married couple living in it for a while. Had two kids, a boy and a girl. High school age. Loud cars without mufflers would drive by every night. Playing heavy metal music; doors slamming, no regard for neighbors.

He used to sit outside with a shotgun in his hands. Every day, the dad would go between the two trailers and shoot beer cans lined up on a piece of wood. He was a terrible shot. Missed most of the time. Everybody knew to stay out of his way.

Never saw the wife much. Heard she had a job at the potato chip factory. She was gone for a good part of the day. Drove a truck. An old Ford. It was falling apart.

At night, you could hear them arguing. He threatened to kill her. She threatened to leave him. Something had to give.

And, one evening, there was no truck in the driveway. It got later and later, but no truck. He was cursing up a storm. Heard a gun shot go off. Just one. Then there was silence. A real eerie quiet.

They carried his body out on a stretcher. Don’t know what happened to the kids. Some say they lived with her mom out on Pine Road. Heard the daughter never finished high school; worked as a waitress at a bar out by the truck stop.

That trailer sits empty. Nobody wants any part of it. Heard they might tear it down.

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