There’s something wrong with our neighbors.
Their windows seem to be boarded up tight
It appears as though no one is ever home
But in the creeping blackness of the night, I see lights
There’s a lone car always parked in the driveway
Their small cabin stands isolated in the woods
Away from every other house on our road
It sends shivers down my spine every time I pass it
I always speed up when I near it
On my walk home from the bus stop
A curtain would shift each time I dared look
I had nearly convinced myself it was just the wind
Drifting in through the cracks in the boarded up windows
But one day, walking home from a tiresome day at school
I saw something on their sad little car
It was a handprint no bigger than mine, pressed on the window
A deep red color, unmistakingly blood
And that's when I knew, for certain
There’s something wrong with our neighbors
