A story written for "Gloves Up| A Multi-Genre Smackdown Contest", Round 5 (January 2023). Genre: Horror
Story Word Count: 7995
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October 12, 1955.
I crossed the date. Another morning began with its daily tantrums and oppression. My eyes wandered across the calendar, taking in the crossed dates in red. I sighed, dropping the pen. A monotonous habit of the past years.
It was past five in the morning, and sleeping was the last thing on my mind. So I walked towards the Central Canyon, seeing my neighbor, Mrs. Lee, who was dressed up in a jogging outfit. A huge maroon trench coat perched on her flurry outfit.
I'd always been fascinated by her embroidered parapet and a huge pinnacle-shaped chimney, an asset of the stone house.
"Oh, honey, good morning!" The half-French, half-Chinese woman chirped.
I smiled, "Morning, Mrs. Lee. Ready for walk?"
She laughed, "Of course, as usual." All of a sudden, her expression changed, turning more rigid and concerned. "Raven, well, darling, no offense, but don't you think something's off with the Lockwoods?"
I scrunched up my nose, reliving the times this very thought popped into my mind. "Sort of, Mrs. Lee. But, who are we to say anything unless it concerns us."
She sighed, "Hmm, right. Anyway, I shall take my leave. You take care." She paused, then eventually spoke: "Be careful." I smiled back, nodding.
I'd known the hybrid woman for three years, yet her family tree was still a mystery to me, let alone the fact that she ended up marrying a German. The sole reason for her migration to Germany. In the matter of three years, she'd been nothing but a kind and sweet woman. Although I made sure to keep our interactions almost to a minimum, she somehow found ways to contradict it.
To say I was surprised by her arrival would be quite an understatement. After all, Cavanagh Sites was literally no where on the German map. It was a place that once existed but was later destroyed by the war. The roads of Cavanagh Sites seemed empty. I tried to recall the last time I stepped outside. However, there was no such memory.
Time never seemed so hazy to me. Almost faded and lost.
My eyes then fell on the two-story building in the extreme corner of the street. The chipped dry walls were coming out, and the corroded iron gate shone as the dim sun rays of winter glistened in red and brownish shades. The leaded glass was hazy with multiple scratches and blotches. I always liked their oriel windows studded with dark colored glasses. It looked exotic to me. The beauty in the ugly black chimneys complemented the steeply pitched gables. The snow-covered trees complimented the color of the old house, which had been abandoned for the last twenty years.
