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Someone has been hanging around my house.

Okay, yes – the neighbours’ house has gone up for sale since their unfortunate and bloody demise recently.   So the police, the B-grade media happy-snappers, and the gore tourists have barely packed up and left before realtors and investors and first-home-buying couples have arrived.   Clearly violent local double homicide doesn’t weigh in against good location and ‘nice’ neighbourhood.

(And before you fucking ask, yes – I’ll be refraining from inviting the new inhabitants  to dinner, okay?   It was a fucking close call last time.)

But I’m not talking about daytime hours, and I’m not talking about next door.   I’m talking about someone lurking outside my place every night, and I don’t know who the hell it is.  

 

Take last night.   I’m just sitting on the couch around about midnight, channel-flicking in the dark.   I’ve been having this feeling there’s been somebody around lately, so I’ve left the porch light on for once.  

I switch over, and there’s Nosferatu, of all things, playing on some classics channel.   So I’m watching for a laugh, with the black-and-white light flickering away – when I hear something that isn’t coming from the fucking television.  

So I look at the Cat, and the Cat looks at me, and slides smoothly off the top of the television and under the curtain and silently out the window.   I press mute on the remote, and stand up really quietly too, and come stealthily out into the dark hall.  

 

And I swear – I can hear someone outside the front door.  

 

Tiny creaks of man-made weight shifting carefully on the old stair boards.   The tv in the next room is throwing out flickering light, which is fucking with my night vision but not my ears.   I move cautiously down the hallway, glad I don’t have to breathe, and annoyed by the unsteady rhythm of my inhuman heartbeat.   My eyes are trying to focus on the bright light from the porch, creeping in around the edges of the door frame and under the front door.

Suddenly, my own foot finds a creaking board, and I stop abruptly.

And so does the noise outside.  

And then, distinctly, the bright outline is broken as a dark shadow passes in front of the door…

Just as the fucking Cat throws itself back in through the side window, makes like a fucking ghost through the billowing gauze curtain, and shoots under the couch.   Scares the shit out of me, the little bastard.   Fuck.

 When I look back, the shadow at the door is gone.

Too late, I run forward and throw it open  – and look out on the lit and empty porch, just like some bloody heroine in some lame-ass horror movie, for fuck’s sake.   Nothing.

 

So.   Someone has been hanging around my house.   But this stalker is going to be in for a fucking surprise when he and I do finally meet.

I don’t play nice.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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One Comment

  1. It was me. Hehe.


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