Dead Echo

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  By the winter of 1989 the work began in earnest. The acreage sold during the reevaluation of the property readied itself for occupancy. Another barbwire enclosure was erected around the site (the older fence long gone to dereliction) and Smith and Fields Construction, Incorporated, under the scrutiny of a host of lenders and other legitimate benefactors, cleared away the mass of paperwork that perpetually haunts any legal enterprise. Another trailer was installed just off the main access road to the property, along with a plethora of equipment shacks and utility poles, and a site boss was hired to oversee the work. The road, up until this time, a rutted affair suited strictly for the use of light farm trucks and their like was upgraded to asphalt to bear the heavy equipment. One of the closer ponds was filled in up to the extent of the new boundary amid No Trespassing signs posted at set intervals every five hundred feet of the fence line. During this time, while the area was cleared of accumulated waste and declinations and inclines incongruent to a straight line of sight for the surveyors, a small team of architects (both residential and landscape) was brought on board to snap an inspiring vista into shape. It was soon determined the neighborhood would be modest in scope and geared toward a lower-middle-class market since, at the time, that was all the economic strength the area warranted. Within two months yellow markers began appearing, designating streets and drives thus far only lines on rudimentary plans.

  The neighborhood, Leszno’s Acres (holding firm to the name on the property deed), would encompass the entire twenty-five acres, and include a modest sixty single household dwellings set down on quarter-acre lots. The housing grid provided a rectangular layout of two parallel drives with perpendicular streets bisecting them every standard block. This would serve as the First Filing and any subsequent building would be commenced at later dates, when or if legal restrictions were ever lifted. The modest homes were scaled for three bedrooms and two baths, with a limit of fifteen major layouts differing only in aesthetics. Foundation work began and a local nursery was hired for turf and congenial hardwood placement. Highway 27 now bore a perpetual film of mud tracked from the trucks entering and leaving the site. Digging began for the installation of sewer and electrical services. The memory of the fire slowly faded to soft background chatter as did the other ominous echoes from the past that had tried to resurface during the resurrection of the area.

  By the fall of 1990 the streets were laid, the utilities functional. Thirty of the projected sixty units were nearing various stages of completion with the surrounding area enjoying the benefits of new enterprise in what had hitherto been a mere lonesome spot on the map. There were no complaints.

  Then came the incident.