The sidewalk is empty.
Old Mill Row is still sleepy and quiet, the curtains drawn, cars parked in driveways. The world is pretending it’s safe because it looks that way.
I scan left. Then right. Then over to the hedge line.
It’s still.
I swallow, forcing air into my lungs.
It’s fine.
Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe it was a squirrel running along the hedges, and I mistook the sound for human. Maybe?—
Footsteps come again, closer this time.
My breath catches.
I don’t turn immediately.
Instead, I do what I’ve always done when my instincts start screaming—I listen and count for three beats.
But all I hear is silence.
My shoulders begin to relax... until I hear another step.
I freeze, then slowly turn around.
Nothing.
A cold, nagging suspicion settles in my gut.
Someone wants me to know they’re here.
My fingers tighten around the mail.
I take one slow step toward the house.
But then, the unmistakable snap of a twig.
My heart bangs hard in my chest.
I keep walking up the last stretch of the driveway, my shoes scuffing softly against the damp blacktop.
The air feels heavier, like it’s pressing in on me.
I don’t look back again until I reach the front door.
My hand closes around the knob.
I pause.
Then I turn—just enough—to glance over my shoulder one last time.
Only the hedge line and the quiet street behind me.
I step inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.
