“It’s not like I haven’t started at a new school a million times.” She spooned multicolored yogurt into her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
She swallowed the yogurt while she glared at me and dropped her spoon into her bowl.
“What are you apologizing for? I loved growing up the way I did. It was like a new adventure every year. I’ve got to meet a lot of people. I’ve been able to see a lot of places. There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m just saying you don’t need to worry if I’m going to be okay. I’ll be fine, Mom. Really.”
She picked her spoon back up and continued picking at her yogurt. I watched her and wondered how I got so lucky to be her mom.
• • •
When we got back home, I started cooking dinner. Stassi was upstairs, getting her things ready for school. The chicken was in the oven and I’d just put the macaroni on the stove when the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on the rag by the sink and started walking toward the front door.
“Stassi!” I yelled up the stairs. “Can you come keep an eye on the noodles while I answer the door?”
“Sure! I’ll be down in a minute.”
I looked out the peephole and saw three faces staring back at me. There was a couple about my age, both with brown hair and glasses. There was a boy, who looked to be Stassi’s age or a little older, standing behind them. He had dark curly hair and a pale face. A chill ran down my spine as I looked out at him. Just the same as when I had encountered the old woman in the frozen yogurt shop. Something about him was off. I shuddered before I opened the door.
“Hey.” I put a smile on my face.
The woman was holding a basket. “Hi there,” she spoke with a soft, southern twang. “We hear you’re new to the neighborhood. We wanted to welcome you.”
The woman’s frail hand patted the basket. She pushed it away from her body and toward mine.
“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything. The people in this neighborhood are too nice,” I said as I took the basket from her and placed it on the small table next to me.
“We were on vacation when you first moved in. That’s why we didn’t stop by sooner.” The smiles on their faces were warming. The icicle that had morphed into my spine started melting.
“Well, thank you. I’m Bobbi and…” I lost my train of thought.
The young boy on my doorstep was no longer staring at me. He was looking past me. Color appeared on his cheeks. Very little, but it was something. Something that wasn’t there before.
“Hi! I’m Stassi.” My daughter’s sweet voice chirped in my ear.
I looked behind me and she was standing on the bottom step. She smiled for a second then jumped off before heading toward the kitchen. When I turned back around, the boy was gone.
“That’s Stassi, my daughter.”
“Charlie and Melissa. Nice to meet you.” They both stuck out their hands for me to shake.
I shook their hands and then placed mine in my pockets. “And your son?” I searched behind them for any sign of the boy. An uneasiness sat in my stomach.
When I brought my gaze back to them, I noticed confused looks on their faces. My eyes darted back and forth between them. An awkward silence draped over our otherwise pleasant interaction.
I asked again, “Your son? The young man that was just here . . . behind you?”
Their lips thinned in unison. “Uhm,” Charlie cleared his throat. “We don’t have a son.”
“Well do you know the young man who was standing behind you?”
They both turned and looked behind them. Melissa scanned her eyes down the street before they turned to look at me once again. I caught the glance they gave each other before making eye contact again. They managed weak smiles.
“Well, it’s getting late. We’ve got to get our supper going.” Charlie grabbed his wife’s hand and squeezed it lightly.
“You enjoy those muffins, hun. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
The grins on their faces fell as they turned around and stepped off the porch. I shut the door behind them and walked back into the kitchen, taking the basket of muffins with me.
• • •
I closed my eyes as I lay in bed, trying to sleep. Trying to recollect my conversation with Stassi at the dinner table. I’d asked her if she had seen the young man staring at her from out on the front porch. I thought she was going to tell me she hadn’t. I thought I was going to have to tell myself I was going crazy, that I was seeing things again. However, that didn’t happen. Stassi had seen the young man. He was there. He was real. I wasn’t going crazy.
It was the Sunday before the first day of school for the year. I was living in a townhome complex with my parents and two little brothers. I was taking out the trash, mumbling under my breath that I had to trek to the dirty, rusted out bucket that was the communal dumpster. It sat behind the row of homes, below an empty unit. The eerily quiet, dark home had been unoccupied since we moved into the building not long before, after downgrading from our house.
I heaved one of the black plastic bags over my shoulder and threw it into the dumpster. I had placed the heavier bag down by my feet. When I went to pick up the second bag, I felt a strange chill swirling its way around my body. Someone was staring at me. Watching me. I could feel it. I was being smothered by the thought.
I turned slowly. There was no warmth radiating off a body behind me. No slow, steady, or shallow breaths. There was no one there. A small voice in my head told me to look up. My gaze moved to the top floor of the empty unit. There was someone there . . . watching me. A dark figure stood stock still, unwavering as my eyes froze upon its shadowy form. An arm lifted and simply waved before the figure stepped away from the window frame.
When I went back inside, I told my dad about what I had seen. He went up to the empty unit and knocked multiple times. No one came to the door, and as my small ear pressed against the cold metal, I didn’t detect any movement. The superintendent even came by and unlocked the unit. Deserted.
My imagination must have gotten the best of me. That’s what I always thought until the next time I would see something no one else had. Those were memories from the past. Things I hadn’t experienced in such a long time. I had seen the boy on the porch and so had Stassi. He was real.
The thoughts in my head finally stopped. The dark promise of sleep was about to overtake my tired body when the scratching started again. I jumped out of the bed and raced toward the window. There was no shadow. Just the noise of a tree limb scraping its rough surface along the glass.
My brow furrowed as my hands reached toward the curtain. The sound was growing softer the closer I got. It stopped completely once I grabbed a hold of the thin material. I pulled it to the side and took a deep breath as I pulled up the blinds. They clacked up as I stared directly in front of me.
There was no tree. There was nothing. Nothing stood in the way of my window that could have caused the scratching noise. But I knew I heard it.
Only a big empty house sat in front of me. At least, I thought it was empty. I had met the majority of my neighbors, or I had seen them in their yards, waving as I drove by. No one had ever come in or out of that house.
Something about the house drew me in though. My attention was laser-focused on the dark structure in front of me. It was a beautiful two-story home with brick and panels, and stone. It had black trim around its many windows. It looked familiar. I tried to place the house in my mind, but I couldn’t.