The bodies were found by a neighbour, someone who had long lived their life next to the window, watching the actions of others in place of living themselves. Something had drawn her attention to the house that night. Though later she would attest that she couldn’t quite place what it was that had aroused her interest, she said at the time that something about the house’s darkness had seemed uncommon. Normally her neighbours were like clocks ticking to a time she had long worked out for them. Therefore, in her mind, there should have been at least one light shining in the dark mass of brick that lay next door. However, even as dusk became night there had been no movement from the house despite both cars being in the drive. At first she had thought nothing of it, for we’re all entitled to changes in our routine, yet time had snuck into her musing; that force which seeps inside even our best laid plans and throws doubt and questions over all we were once so sure of. Time had entered into this woman’s thoughts and lingered, casting out its net of mild intrigue that in the minds of the restless and bored always yields the most elaborate approximations.
Ideas came to her as she watched the house.
... perhaps they were visiting friends on foot, for they couldn’t have driven ...
... but, wait, they couldn’t have gone on foot for what friends do they have that they’ve ever visited on foot before, for such a long time and with the children as well ...
... no lights at all ...
Thehouse appeared all but dead, a black nothing on a street in which the lights from families glowed even behind curtains and blinds.
Questions without answers can frustrate even the most self-absorbed and sufficient being. So this neighbour broke a tradition of her own and ventured out.
She walks as if to pass the house on a stroll after a late dinner, but as she draws parallel with the open gates she stops.
The gate and one of the car doors are open.
... no one leaves a car door open ...
She steps onto the drive, her inquisitiveness now the guiding light of her careful footsteps, her stance a movie image cliché to fit her role as discoverer.
Closer and closer she approaches the car till, when she reaches it, there’s nothing there to satisfy her curiosity so she continues forward.
Fear creeps upon her. The kind of fear one feels when faced with an unknown know only to them through media saturation, television acclimatisation, and the desire of us all to witness real-life up close. In the fall of her feet one can see the hesitation of her step just as one can see in her wide eyes the fear that something unexpected is to burst forth.
At the door she pauses, unsure of what to do due to the tension and reality of it all.
Finally, she knocks.
YOU ARE READING
Wants, Tightrope, Spilt Milk
General FictionCasper Carter has wants. He wants to be famous. He wants to be remembered. He wants to teach us all to be animals again by killing, by torturing and by writing his name forever in blood. How? Well, as a teacher he stands before the perfect set of vi...
