CHERRY TREE AVENUE

The street was called Cherry Tree Avenue. No-one knows why it was called that, because there were no cherry trees about, and none were growing in any of the small gardens of the houses in the street. That was just its name because the wise city fathers had named it so, and thus it remained.

It was a gloomy and dull street, and it was fairly quiet, carrying little traffic. The cars all drove up and down the busier roads nearby, and Cherry Tree Avenue was mostly a quiet, peaceful street. The wind blew a scrap of paper down the side-walk and into a gutter, where it got stuck on the lip in front of the iron grate. A dog barked loudly at one of the houses for no apparent reason, and then fell silent.

All was at rest in the Avenue, except for the wind that moved about in an inquiring fashion, never finding what it sought, but always searching. The sky was a beautiful and brilliant blue above. Only occasionally a solitary car would venture down the street, and turn off somewhere ahead. On Mondays the residents in the houses would take out their refuge bins, and wait for them to be removed.

There was a lot of bird-life about in the area, and by day they flew about and perched in the trees of the gardens. Their song always seemed to fill the air all around the place, and it made the Avenue quiet a pleasant street. Yes, all this made Cherry Tree Avenue a good, quiet neighborhood, except for the incident late last year at number 123.

Of course I am talking about the murders. The young couple butchered inexplicably in their bedroom, and the murderer never found. A gruesome and horrid affair it was too, I am led to believe. A bloody and murderous event, which was never quite cleared up by the authorities. The unresolved mystery of Cherry Tree Avenue.

The unsubstantiated rumors regarding the murders still traveled up down the street, and in and out of the houses, freely. A terrible deed indeed, but a nice bit of gossip for the neighbors. The murders in the Avenue were the talk of the town at that time, but all of that seemed to have quietened down now, and it was not mentioned that often, but was well remembered by all.

Another scrap bit of old newspaper was blown down the curb, to eventually come to rest somewhere ahead in a gutter. The wind was cold and menacing and searched the quiet street in vain for new victims to antagonize. It was autumn and the year was drawing to an end. Just another season, just another year, on Cherry Tree Avenue.