Lucy's keys rattled in the door as she stumbled inside her house. Bags of groceries kept her arms preoccupied as she tried to wrangle herself through the doorway. She cursed as the door slammed shut behind her, and the only light was shut out with it. She meandered through the ill kept room, stepping over baskets and boxes which she had yet to unpack despite living in the house for nearly a year. Making it to the kitchen, she flicked on a light and sighed at the sight of the many unwashed dishes and discarded food boxes. She put down her things and began to put away the new supply of microwavable meals and cans of soup.
As she stocked the cabinet and freezer, she reminded herself that these were practical choices. Frozen meals were easy to prepare and saved time. Time she liked to use otherwise. She hated lingering on the meals themselves, too, and it showed in her physique. Lucy was rail thin and tall. The women at work told her they envied her slender form, but she knew behind her back they mocked her for the same thing. On more than one occasion, she'd overheard the catty women say a man would be better off fucking a broomstick than Lucy. She tried not to dwell on such things, but unpacking her single serve meals in her dark, empty house made it quite difficult.
Thinking it would cheer her up, she cleaned. She quickly filled one trash bag and put it to the side as she started on another. She busied herself going from room to room gathering dishes and glasses. She had a terrible habit of making herself a glass of water, taking it to one of the rooms, and forgetting about it. She would repeat this until several glasses remained at each of the spots within the house she frequented — beside the bed, at her office desk, in the living room beside the couch, and on the bathroom sink for when she was getting dressed. Dishes were less common as most of her meals came in prepackaged trays, but there always managed to be a few. She loaded the dishwasher and moved on to laundry. She hated housework, but preferred to get it all done in one swoop while telling herself to be more diligent about cleaning each dish as she used them.
As she loaded her underwear into the washer, she wondered what it was like to have a husband or even to live with someone. She had a roommate for a year in college. She liked the company, even though the girl wasn't terribly fond of her. They didn't have any shared interests. Lucy liked to stay in and watch movies or play games while her roommate lived for the night life. Lucy didn't know what happened to the girl after freshman year as they never spoke again, but she liked to think they were friends who might reconnect some day. Lucy thought these things about many of the people from her past.
With the laundry done, she grabbed up the garbage and headed out to take the bins to the curb for the morning's pick up. The night was crisp and cool. Lucy's house was near the end of a long street at the start of the cul-de-sac's curve. The houses around her were all dark save for a small interior glow from a television or monitor. A few yellow lamps hung over the too-small sidewalk providing a little light for street guidance rather than pedestrian ambling. Lucy rolled the bin down her drive and positioned it beside her mailbox. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
On the opposite side of the street, under one of the lamplights, a man stood. He wore a hat, a coat, and held briefcase in his left hand. The hat blocked the yellow light and shrouded his face in darkness. The street was silent. Lucy thought it should have been abuzz with the normal evening traffic of people coming in from work or rattling around in their garages. The houses should not have felt so dark or so empty, as if everyone meant to be inside had found a reason to be elsewhere. Standing at the edge of driveway, Lucy felt alone, except for the man across the street.
From where she stood, she could not tell if he was looking at her. The moonless sky offered no light, and the pale yellow of the nearest street lamp offered no help. Other than the grating drag of the garbage bins, she would have gone to the curb and back entirely unnoticeable. And yet, she could feel eyes on her. She knew he watched her — was watching her, as keenly as an owl watches its prey.
Nervously, she moved back towards her front door. She told herself she was being silly, but the closer she got to the door, the more she could feel a presence bearing down on her. At any moment, she expected to hear the quick patter of feet running on pavement. With each step she took, she counted the leaps and dashes she would have to make to escape a villainous pursuer. Her heart pounded in her chest as she grabbed the doorknob and ducked into her house. She bolted the lock behind her. Lucy moved over to the window and looked out into the street. The man had not moved. He stood as rigid as a statue. Though her house brought some comfort and security, she didn't like the man outside. She thought of calling the police, but she didn't want to make a fuss. Instead, she set about securing every lock in her home.
As she did, she grew more paranoid, checking the window latches and turning on the lights in each room. She checked behind the curtain of the shower. In her mind, she envisioned the man in her house, waiting for her in a different room, standing silently and waiting out of sight until she approached. He would then slink to a corner or behind a door to go unnoticed, waiting for the perfect moment to seize her. With the house fully checked, all the locks secured, and all the lights on to drive away any specter, she turned on the television and attempted to sit down. After a few minutes, she couldn't bear it any longer. She crept over to the front door and peeked out into the dark night.
The man was gone. Her eyes moved up and down the street, searching for any sign of him as relief flooded over her body. How could she have been so silly? He was someone's visitor, of course, waiting on the curb for his ride. Lucy didn't know why the figure had made her so jumpy. As the curtain slid back over the window, she noticed something. Across the street, her neighbor had left their car in the driveway. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, but it looked
off.
Lucy's mouth went dry, and she tasted something bitter at the back of her throat as her eyes resolved the shadow beside the car.
The man crouched in a twisted heap beside the vehicle. His eyes fixed on her.
The man moved. He lurched up from the crouch in an impossible twist of motion. With fast, determined steps, he crossed the street and up Lucy's driveway. She didn't know what to do. She backed away from the door and waited. The little light coming from the gap between the door window and curtain vanished. The man stood on the other side of the door, only inches away. A thick smell filled the air. Lucy struggled to place it. Her mind flashed back to years before when she'd been a young woman on a long walk with a boy she liked. They'd crossed through a park and come across a grate that led down to the sewer. The boy had insisted he'd seen something. He'd wanted to reach into the grate to brush aside some leaves and get a better look. Lucy had stopped him. The smell, a thick metallic stench, had frightened her. The same smell seeped through the door as she crouched down to stay out of sight.
The man knocked. Three times, each shaking her nerves to the point of break. And then silence. The smell grew stronger. Carefully, Lucy moved to the side where she could see out, but the man might not be able to see in. She cursed herself for having the lights on and allowing herself to be so easily seen. She thought of where she put her phone, but she couldn't remember. She thought of a neighbor seeing a strange man at her door, but she'd never spoken to a single person on her street. She shifted slightly and saw under the brim of the man's hat. A long, bone white snout protruded from the shadow. Curved white teeth gleamed in the pale light. She wanted to scream, but the fear strangled the noise in her throat. The knocks came again.
"Go...away," she breathed, quietly, fear sapping her voice. "I'm calling the police!"
The knocks came again. Louder.
