I hated the emptiness, the stillness of the unoccupied house next door. There was a coldness, a lack of life and warmth even in the summer. Before the house was sold, subject to contract, the owners had moved out and the mice moved in. I could hear the morning mice running underneath the floorboards, tormenting me. Sometimes in the dead of night I thought I heard the floorboards creak, only there was no one there to make them creak. The empty house, built in the late 19th century, spooked me out, which was kind of odd. I should have been grateful for the peace and quiet it had brought me, allowing me to carry on with my writing. Still, a writer's life could be a lonely one and the isolation scared the living daylights out of me. The simple truth was that I longed for the company of another.
The first signs that someone had moved in were the heavy drapes drawn across the tall front bay windows. It was if my neighbour was trying to keep the world outside away. I was intrigued. The flash car soon came to be parked outside. There was what some would call music, with the same repetitive beat that wouldn't have been out of place in the opening scene of Blade. It told me instinctively that my new neighbour was a man and I that really shouldn't watch scary movies. Yet, I liked the way they made me laugh.
If my neighbour came and went during daylight hours I never saw him. Sometimes his car was there, sometimes not, but the curtains were always drawn. Who he was and what he was doing in there began to fill my waking hours. I'd find myself sneaking out whenever I could just to see if I could spot my mystery man, but he always managed to elude me. After a couple of months I realised that whoever was living there would often go out when everyone else was going to bed and that made me even more curious to find all I could. What kind of man went out at night and didn't come home until just before dawn?
Sometimes a dark expensive car would arrive to take him places. I'd catch a glimpse of grey converse and jeans as my neighbour disappeared into the night. He appeared to dress like an ordinary man, but his comings and goings were far from ordinary. I imagined him tall, dark and handsome with eyes of blue, simply, because I wanted to.
I also figured out that if he was all of those things then he was a man that looked after his body. Although, if he ate, I never heard the rattle of pots and pans in his kitchen. As my obsession grew I decided to check his rubbish bin. Starbucks and takeaway pizza, meat feast, if I wasn't mistaken. His choice of food and drink suggested he didn't do much home cooking. The man was an animal, in more ways than one as I soon found out.
Over the coming weeks he brought home several different girlfriends. From the rare glimpses I had they were dark haired, petite and young. Giggly. Happy. He liked to make them cry out, sometimes in pleasure, sometimes in pain, when he took them to his bed. I guessed he had a sense of humour when I heard him chuckling to himself. I don't think I heard the same girl twice. When he wasn't out or in bed he was joined by three other men. I soon became able to recognise their voices. They were not from London, but from somewhere in the north, if I wasn't mistaken.
They too seemed to have an appetite for women and going places. They were always talking about this girl or that girl and this city or that city. I lost count of the number of girls they'd had and the cities they had visited. As they talked about back in the day and girls from different countries I wondered who or what they could possibly be.
"Now, they just come to us!" I heard the one who they called Mark day and laugh loudly. Their laughter was like a drug. I longed for more.
The next few weeks my neighbour was in and out of his house all the time and then he went away from a month, maybe longer. Where he went to I had no idea. I marked off each night he was away, longing for his return.
As summer faded to autumn, Doug or Howard, I'd heard his friends call him one name, his girlfriends the other, returned home. I had missed his techno music, the creaking of the floorboards under his converse as he bounded up and down the stairs in his house.
I realised that if I wanted to meet him I'd have to go out when he went out.
The time of year was just right. The barbecue summer had been replaced by cold crisp mornings. Autumn was upon us. The evenings were now spent in the warmth of indoors leaving the streets to the night owls. It wouldn't be difficult to follow him.
It had been awhile since I had been out. The modern world scared me. Still I shouldn't be afraid. I knew the streets in my neighbourhood like the back of my hand. I noted his routine, when he had take out and when he didn't. I worked out when he would step out for food and at what time he was likely to return home.
If the plan worked I would be right behind him and I would get a proper look at him with a few quick steps. My only hope was that he lived up to the expectations of my imagination.
I dressed in black, sunglasses, just in case, but it was raining, so I didn't need them. As soon as dusk had fallen I stepped out into the street, hidden under my umbrella.
I avoided the busy streets, sticking to the quieter back streets, passing the cupcake bakery with its orange frosted Halloween cupcakes advertised in the window. I knew every nook and cranny. I passed what was once a Victorian pumping station. The memories of those now dead lingered in the air as a evening tour guide spun a yarn or two about spies being tortured and murders. The city was cruel place. As darkness descended the rain eased off for awhile and I bravely put away my umbrella, avoiding eye contact. I stood at the roadside and waited for the cars to stop passing by, taking their drivers home to their loved ones. I let them continue and I crossed the road at the crossing, taking a short stroll along the edge of the park before turning back. It wasn't good to stay out for too long. You never knew who was out there.
I walked with the last of the commuters, still suited and booted, the taste of overpriced wine on their lips, as they made their way home. Whatever happened to the weird and wonderful? I took shelter at the entrance of the tube station watching the world go by, trying to avert my eyes when a couple came in and stood close by, laughing and kissing off the rain that had returned.
Amongst the black shoes and boots I at last spotted the unmistakable pair of converse and jeans. I expected to see a dark top, but instead I was greeted by a beige and orange striped jumper. I squinted a little at its brightness. Maybe the garlic and the wooden stakes wouldn't be needed after all, I chuckled to myself. Take That! Vampires slain by hideous jumper.
I walked behind him, sticking to the shadows. He moved quickly, scanning the people as he passed them by. I wondered who or what he was looking for. His next victim?
It was surprisingly easy to keep up with him even if I was a little out of practice.
As we left the hustle and bustle of a wet Monday night behind us, he finally stopped and turned. His senses were stronger than I realised.
