Pen Pal(41)

And let’s not forget the mysteriously reappearing buffalo nickel and the weird guy in the hat who spied on me from behind a tree and didn’t leave any footprints behind. In mud.

Psych ward, here I come.

Just breathe, Kayla. Just calm down and breathe.

Back at the house, I’m worried I might not have armed the alarm before I left, but it’s working as it should. I enter in my code to reset it, then stand in the foyer, listening.

For what, I don’t know.

The house is silent. When I enter the kitchen, I half expect to see more open drawers and cupboards, but nothing is amiss. I go from room to room, checking things out, until I’m satisfied there are no bogeymen hiding in closets or behind doors.

Only I’m not really satisfied. I’m paranoid, and I don’t know what to do about it.

So I do what any rational person would and pour myself a glass of wine.

Then I lock myself in my office and force myself to work, ignoring the disturbing fact that I’m drinking wine before noon and trying to pretend it’s normal behavior, when in reality, everybody knows denial about your drinking habits is a total red flag for alcohol use disorder.

“Oh, who cares?” I mutter, glaring at my drawing board. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

After an hour, I give up. I drop my pen and rub my eyes, then go into the kitchen and refill my wine glass. Leaning against the counter, I hit the rewind button on the security app on my phone and settle in for some high-speed, backward video viewing.

I have a bad feeling that daily reviewing of the damn camera feed is about to become my new hobby.

It takes a while to get through it all from the time I left last night to when I returned this morning, but I find nothing unusual. Around dawn, two squirrels chased each other across the driveway. Just after midnight, a fat raccoon trundled out from the woodpile on the back porch and wandered away into the darkness. Other than that, everything was still.

It isn’t until I return to my office with another glass of wine that I see something interesting.

A little blond boy about five or six years old plays by himself on the back lawn. Dressed in a red jacket, matching pants, and yellow rain boots, he runs around grinning, chasing leaves and throwing them into the air. He falls at one point, screaming with laughter as he tumbles face first into the grass, then rolls over and waves at the sky.

Staring at him through the window, I wonder if a new family moved into the neighborhood. Or maybe someone’s grandchild is visiting? I can’t think of anyone nearby who has little kids.

But why would his mother think it was a good idea to take this kid to play on my back lawn? The house sits in the middle of two wooded acres. You have to make an effort to get here. Unless they walked down the beach? And where is his mother, anyway? There’s no adult in sight. Just this jolly little preschooler tearing up my grass.

Sighing, I set the wine glass on my desk and leave the room. I pass through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room, then go through the garage and out the side door to the backyard.

When I look around, however, the kid has disappeared.

I holler, “Hello? Anybody out here?”

My only answer is the lonely cry of a seagull circling far overhead.

Chilled because I forgot to put on a jacket, I walk all the way around the back of the house and look down toward the street. I see no one. The driveway is empty. I look back toward the beach, and it’s empty, too. So are the woods on either side of the house.

Irritated, I mutter, “Where’d you go, you little fucker?”

The last thing I need is some dumb kid breaking his leg on a rock he tripped over on my property. I can see the lawsuit coming a mile away.

I spend another fifteen minutes hunting for him, then give up and go back inside for more wine. Then I get the idea to review the camera feed from the last half hour to see where little blondie went.

But when I open the app, all I get is static. The screen shows nothing but pixelated snow.

Great. The security system works as well as the electrical system. Maybe I should just sell the place and move.

Feeling defeated, I go back to my desk and work for the rest of the day.





The next morning, I wake to the sound of the alarm screaming.

Disoriented, I jolt upright in bed and look around in panic. Gray daylight sifts through the cracks in the curtains. My robe is where I left it, draped over the arm of a chair. Nothing in the room appears to be out of order, except for the ear-piercing shriek of the security alarm.

In my panic, I fall out of bed. I hit the floor with a thud but scramble to my feet, adrenaline burning through my veins.

Someone broke into the house.

Fuck fuck fuck oh holy fuck someone broke into the house!

The noise cuts off as abruptly as it began, leaving my ears ringing with the silence.

Hyperventilating, I move quietly to the door, open it a crack, and listen. Within moments, I hear a female voice grouse, “Blasted thing. What a bloody racket. I’ll go deaf, and that’s a fact.”

I nearly faint with relief. It’s Fiona.

Throwing open the door, I walk down the hall and lean over the balcony that overlooks the first floor. “Fiona! It’s you!”

She screams and jumps, whirling around. Gazing up at me from the foyer, she presses a hand over her heart.

Looking cross, she says, “It’s ten o’clock Monday morning, dear. Of course it’s me.”