Page 10 of No, You Hang Up

Closing the door with the ball of my foot, I snag my phone from the end table in the living room, then notice my TV is still on and sitting on the homepage of a streaming service. I hesitate, considering watching something, or actually going through with puttingRVon like I’d hoped to do with my friends. Ultimately, however, I snag one of the Dr. Pepper cans from the counter and head to the door at the back of my small kitchen, pulling open the slider to head out to my covered back patio.

This might be my favorite part of the house. Like the rest of it, the patio is furnished with pretty modern furniture, and I’ve wondered sometimes if Aunt Hortense refurbished the whole place not long before she died. Everything seemed new when I moved in a year and a half ago, and nothing seemed like it was used very much.

It’s…thoughtful. But somehow it hurts a little bit when I think too hard about the idea of the aunt I only met a few times caring enough to provide for me after her death without me even knowing her that well.

A groan leaves my lips as I settle in my favorite padded chair, then drag my legs up under me to stare out at the backyard that’s lit by strings of lights in glass bulbs. They are one of the few additions I made, and it’s still almost surreal to me that the aesthetic I’ve loved to look at in magazines and online for years is finally something I own. Sometimes, I imagine putting a pool back here. Or revitalizing the garden that was long dead before I moved in. Hell, I could even get a dog considering how big this yard is, and the fact it’s already perfectly fenced in.

I could get something scary. Like a Rottweiler, or a German Shepherd.

Or achihuahua.

Noise from the yard beyond mine, one that’s separated by my fence and a single line of decorative trees, makes me look up toward it. A patio light flicks on, and I stare through the trees, wondering who’s still up and out in their yard this late. Not that I’m judging, obviously, since I’m sitting here in the dark, too. I watch and listen, searching for any sign of anything at all as an instinctual anxiety tingles down my spine. I’m not afraid of the dark. Not really. But I think every human hassomefear of the shadows, deep down. After all, aren’t we all afraid of the things we can’t see?

God, I don’t know why I’m being so existential tonight.

Downing my Dr. Pepper, I listen to the quiet sounds of the suburb, which this late at night is from just a few insects. The birds all have the good sense to be asleep, and with the storm coming, I doubt even the insects will be active for very much longer. As if to echo my thoughts, a roll of thunder sounds in the distance, heralding the slow arrival of more. Sure enough, when I glance at my phone, I see it’s supposed to storm from one am until tomorrow morning, and then again tomorrow afternoon.

“Great…” I sigh. My head goes back just as another sound reaches my ears, but I know when I look up, I won’t see anything. It’s probably a cat or a raccoon on its evening rounds. Both are pretty common occurrences here, especially since we’re so close to the local park.

Sure enough, there’s nothing at all to see. I get to my feet with a groan, setting the now empty can in my hand on the small table by the door. On a whim, I walk out into my yard instead of heading for the door. It’s simply to prove the fear in my gut wrong that I stride toward the shed and the fence in front of the ornamental trees.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, as the leaves and grass crunch under my bare feet. It’s probably bold of me to be out here without shoes, but I haven’t paid for it yet. That’s not to say I won’t, especially tonight as I move around the shed to press my face to the smooth, lacquered wooden slats of the fence.

From there I just listen. My eyes even drift closed as I try to hear if anyone at all in the well-manicured neighborhood is awake after midnight. Well, other than Patrice. But she’s usually quiet enough that I barely hear her unless she’s yelling at one of our neighbors for some HOA violation she’s pulled out of her ass.

I take a breath.

Then another.

I’m jumpy tonight, though I really can’t blame myself. Thunder sounds again and the breeze picks up to ruffle my hair lightly. The wind shifts the branches of the ornamental trees, causing their leaves to make soft, almost soundless noises I can barely hear. The night air is starting to smell like rain, though it’s a distinct smell here than it was down in Florida.

I used to believe I could smell the salt coming in off the water when it rained in Pensacola. Especially given that we were so damn close to the ocean. But here, all I smell is petrichor on the building breeze in the backyard of my little house in a little suburb in Lexington, Kentucky.

“You need to sleep, Kai,” I murmur to myself as I extricate myself off the fence. I’m sure I look like I’ve collapsed back here, or like I’ve gone nuts and am listening to the wooden planks talking to me. But I still give one more look around the yard as my steps carry me back to the patio. I barely hesitate this time as thunder sounds once more, and I close my glass patio door behind me with a smooth, practiced motion. Unlike the door in my parents’ house, this one doesn’t need to be yanked on and dragged in order for it to close.

But then again, most things in their house never worked properly, and they never particularly cared.

Just as I’m doing the last of my dishes and deciding between collapsing on the couch or eating another handful of nachos andthencollapsing on the couch, a sudden, swift knocking on my door makes me jump. I’m sure I was close to levitating, frankly, and I stare at the door like it’ll suddenly open of its own accord, as my heart pounds.

It’s so late.

Who the hell could be knocking on my door at this hour?

Irrationally, my mind flashes back to the man on the phone. How he said he’d give me the attention I was clearly asking for.

How he called me little rabbit.

“That’s not an appropriate thing to remember,” I mutter, yet again carrying on a conversation with myself. After all, who else am I going to talk to most of the time? Drying my hands off on a black towel that reads,Live, Laugh, Lobotomyand is embroidered with pink flowers, I glance at the door again.

As if on cue, the rapid knocking sounds once more, and this time I toss my towel on the counter before striding across the open area between my kitchen and living room. My steps slow past the sectional couch, and I reach my hand out to drag against the fabric of it, as if for comfort.

There’s no peephole on Aunt Hortense’s door, and immediately I decide that’ll be my first and only renovation. Except maybe a dog door for my future guard dog. If I had one, I’m sure they’d be startled enough to chase away whoever is here at?—

I glance at the television sitting on the streaming service’s home screen.

Twelve thirty-seven am.

My fingers fumble with the lock and I yank it open, surprised when I’m greeted with darkness. “U-umm—” My hand slaps the switch beside me, but I realize it is on just as a voice cracks through the air, worse than any thunder.

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