He was an old, mysterious man, at least that’s what the town folk said, and I noticed a bit myself.

“He don’t talk to no one. He’s always out in that field.” Roberta told me as he walked by my catching my gaze out of the corner of his eye.

John Milton, everybody in Hillsboro, Alabama knew the name but no one knew him personally. Rumors say he murdered his wife and hid her in that field, however, that seemed a bit unrealistic to me. I watched him as he walked away trying to figure him out.

“Why’s he got that limp?” I asked Roberta after he was out of sight.

“Hell if I know, probably from his old woman when he murdered her.” Roberta answered. I rolled my eyes at her dramatic comment.

“Well I’m heading home,” I told Roberta and started walking home.

The next day at school our history teacher Mr. Droff assigned us a project. We were to interview one of the older folk in town about their childhood. He gave us all a questionnaire as a guide to our interview and told us that we could interview any person older than 60. I thought about all my options then decided that I was going to interview John Milton.

“Who you gonna interview?” Roberta asked me as we walked down the hall.

“John Milton,” I said as she laughed at me.

“You serious?” She asked after realizing I wasn’t laughing along.

“Yeah, I’m gonna figure out the story behind him,” I told her in total serious.

“Anna, you can’t go there by yourself! What if he murders you too!” She said suddenly worrying.

“Do you really believe that rumor?” I asked her.

“It ain’t no rumor Mr. Warner said he saw him digging a hole out there one day, big enough for a body.” She replied.

“That don’t mean nothing, but, if you’re so worried ‘bout me going why don’t you come with?” I asked her already guessing her answer.

“I…Fine, but just so I can protect my best friend from going murdered!” She answered.

“Uh huh” I replied dramatically.

Three days later Roberta and I headed out of town to John Milton’s house for my interview. John lived in an old, white house about a mile out of town with a big piece of land he farmed every year. As we pulled into the driveway I started to get a little bit nervous. I took a deep breath then looked over at Roberta.

“You ready?” I asked her figuring she was just as nervous as me.

“Are you sure about this?” She asked in a uncertain tone.

“Positive,” I said lying to both her and myself.

I got out of the car and started to walk towards the door then noticed that Roberta wasn’t following. I turned around and say her still sitting in the car with a blank look on her face.

“Come on!” I shouted back to her.

I watched as she got out of the car slowly and started walking towards me. I headed toward the door again. As I arrived at the door I took one more deep breath then knocked on the door. I heard him get out of a squeaky chair mumbling something in a rough, angry tone. As I heard him come closer to the door I looked at Roberta. She was standing there with a blank stare still as if she had just seen one of them scary movies. I heard the door creak open and I turned around quickly.

“What do you two want? I don’t want any of whatever ya’ll are selling.” He said through a little crack in the door, closed by the chain lock.

“Actually, sir, we’re not selling anything. I was wondering if I could interview you for my history project. We’re supposed to interview…”

“Why are you asking me? Ain’t you got anyone else to do you little interview on?” He said, interrupting me.

“Well, yes but I was hoping I could interview you, sir.” I said, my voice cracking.

I stared at the crack in the door, trying to make a face out of it as he stood there silently. After a few seconds of silence, he shut the door. I looked down at the ground and sighed. Finally I looked up at Roberta and she looked back at me.

“I’m sorry.” She said, still shaken up.

Then I heard the lock on the door unlocking. I turned around sharply as the door creaked open, and there stood a scrawny, old man with a wrinkly face. He stared at me for a while before moving out of the way for us to come in.

“Make it quick, I have plantin’ to do.” He said in a rough voice.

I took a big gulp then started to walk through the door, stopping to pull Roberta along with me. We walked into the house and every step we took the floor creaked beneath us. Though it wasn’t a terrible house, not near as bad as the outside.

“Sit there.” He said pointing to the couch, than he went and sat down in an old wooden rocking chair in the corner. We sat in silence for a bit. “Well, are ya gonna ask me questions?” He asked.

“Oh, yes!” I said as if I just came back to Earth.

I asked him a few of the questions from the questionnaire and he answered them with short, sharp answers. I could tell he was uninterested in the questions so I decided to put the questionnaire aside and ask him my own questions.

After an hour of talking with him, Roberta and I headed home.

“That. Was. Scary.” Roberta said as we pulled out of the driveway.

“It wasn’t that bad.” I said half paying attention.

Roberta could tell I wasn’t paying attention and left me alone the rest of the way to town.

The next day at school I had to present my paper in front of the class. I walked to the front of the room and started to read my paper.

“I wrote my paper on John Milton,” I started, as the whole class gasped one big gasp. “A scrawny, scary old man, though, he’s not as bad as people think. His parents died when he was 15 and he lost his wife to cancer 5 years ago.” I continued with the rest of my report. “John Milton is a good man torn apart by deaths and rumors but still living strong on his own.”