Tag: unknown threat

Who’s Watching

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Frankie shifts the phone to her other hand. “Hey, can you actually hold on a second?” She rolls her neck and hears a satisfying crack. Her shoulder muscles feel significantly more relaxed as she turns the corner to her stairs. “I’m back, but hey? Can I actually tell you something a bit weird?” 

She turns around and looks back at her front door, just past the foot of the stairs. The fogged glass always makes her a bit uncomfortable, distorting the view to the porch, but she lets it slip past her mind and starts up the stairs.

Candice responds on the other side of the call. “Obvi, you can tell me anything. You should know that. I mean, as long as it’s not, like, anything gross.”

“It’s not gross.”

“Well, okay, you can tell me gross stuff too, but like, just…give me a warning?”

“No, oh my god, shut up. It’s nothing gross. It’s way more serious than that. Just listen.” 

Frankie gets to the top of the stairs, rounds the banister and leans against it. She looks at the door to her bedroom, just above the front door and looking over the street. She looks away and continues. “Okay, so you know my parents are still out of town right? And they have me looking over the place while they are gone, just me and the cat. Well, when I’m about to go to bed I always close the curtains, but, before I do I look out. It just feels nostalgic I guess, but the place across the street, I think the Madisons? On their roof, every night, there’s like a shape, I think. Its honestly too dark to tell for sure, but it looks like a person is sitting on their roof, like right at the edge, legs dangling and everything. And it just freaks me out.”

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Meet Me at the Gates of the Cemetery

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Peter Grange walked past the fake marble pillars that flanked the sides of the large wrought iron gate. He took a moment to appreciate the ornate flourishes of the metal flowers. If you couldn’t bring flowers, these would never wilt.

Peter turned to walk to the street and back home, brushing off some dirt from his jeans. As he looked up towards the road he saw a figure leaning against a street lamp, standing just between the two cones of light from the lamps bulbs. A faint cloud of cigarette smoke wafted away from the figure and into the leftward patch of light. 

The figure spoke up, “You don’t see many people here this late.”

Peter smiled. “Guess I could say the same.” He stopped halfway between the gate and the street lamp.

“So what are you doing here then? Paying your respects?”

Peter wanted to laugh but instead came out with, “Not exactly. More like, I was just doing some cleaning up.”

The figure shifted its weight, still resting entirely within the shadows. “Oh? You make a lot of messes.” The figure vaguely gestured towards the dirt stains on Peter’s workman jeans. 

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Followed

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At the end of Nathalie’s leash was a soft and fluffy Wheaten Terrier named Roxy, wagging her tail as she went. Roxy was walking at a steady pace, matching her owner’s gait, staying right by her side. Or, more accurately, slightly ahead. Roxy would start just at Nat’s side, but as they got further along their route, Roxy would get just a pinch of excitement and walk in front of Nat, but not too much.

It was a crisp winter day. It had snowed last week, and while there were a few piles still left in some people’s yards, the snow had mostly melted. Today, however, the morning grass was covered in a frost of icy dew. To Nat, the yards looked like they were covered in a dusting of sugar. Nat looked down at Roxy, “Maybe I’ll make some cinnamon rolls today. But none for you girl. Hope you like the smell though.”

The pair turned around a corner in their flat neighborhood, just past a four-way intersection that connected their block to the wider neighborhood system. Soon, on their right, would be a small playground, just past a narrow patch of woods. Roxy picked up her pace, just a pinch more, and pulled her tail in tight. 

Here, on this stretch of their walk, made the extent of the weather so much easier to grasp, as long stretches of grass were left open. Nat wasn’t sure if they were just large yards, or just unsold properties, but either way, both sides of the street were wide open on either side, and just sparsely dotted with houses. Here, Nat felt alone, felt cold, felt tight. Nathalie pulled up her zipper just a bit more, up to the top of her neck, and then pulled tight on the drawstrings of her hood. 

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The Price of Ink

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“May I come in? The rain is getting much stronger outside and there is nowhere else for several miles.”

Gregor looked at the tall stranger with deep confusion, but motioned for him to come inside. He spoke with deep generosity. “Yes, yes, of course, please. We can’t have you out in the elements. What kind of host would I be if I did?” Gregor started walking back deeper into his small home.

The stranger stood in the front portion of Gregor’s home awkwardly, dripping from his long dark cloak and wide brimmed hat. Gregor almost fell over, turning around so quickly. “I’m so so sorry. Please, let me take that hat and cloak of yours. They are absolutely soaked.”

The stranger shook his head gently and said, “No, it is quite alright. I would just like to warm up and dry off by your fire. I imagine that the weather will turn well soon, I can feel it in my knees.” Gregor felt warmth from his guest’s deep baritone. It felt like the voice of a friend he must have forgotten.

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