Neighbors
Neighbors gothic stories
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charliesheldon
charliesheldon philosopher & pervayor of weird cat pics
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
The laundry flapped in the wind where it hung in the yard, feeble pegs preventing the loss of your hard work. Over the fence in the neighbor's backyard you saw the shape of a person materialize. || A story of companionship and loss. About 370 words in length.

Neighbors

Your neighbor had recently died. The laundry flapped in the wind where it hung in the yard, feeble pegs preventing the loss of your hard work.

The full moon illuminated the expanse of suburban lawn.

Over the fence in the neighbor's backyard you saw the shape of a person materialize.

At first you thought perhaps it was the ghost of your neighbor, but in time realized that it was your neighbors wife. She is the only living connection you have to the man who has passed.

You and your neighbor's wife were never close. You had spoken plenty, seen each other at school recitals and PT meetings, backyard barbecues and little league games, but you were not friends.

You did not share moments together though important moments existed where both parties had been present.

Your neighbour's wife noticed you and she made a decision for you. In the white, baring grin of moonlight, she approached the small gate that hung between the fence of your yard, and opened it.

She stood at the base of the steps onto your porch, and lifted her chin. Her face was wet from tears having poured from her eyes. Pleading, she looked at you. Silently, you held out a hand.

She climbed the steps. Her bare feet made creaking noises. Windchimes from several doors down clinked together as another rush of wind swept through.

The sheets on the line flapped harder, but the wind died down again once she reached the top step.

Quietly, she slipped a hand into yours. You did not squeeze it, nor did you say anything, but this strange midnight pair did not feel the need to for a long while.

Finally, in reference to the sold sign on your neighbours front yard, she said "He didn't want to move. He didn't want to move so bad he went and died."

She said "He was stubborn that way."

Neither of you moved for a while after that. You both just stared at the backyard, those sheets of white as pale as the moon, and the next morning your neighbour's wife was gone.

House emptied, moving truck loaded. That night was a night meant for memories, not words or pictures, but maybe dreams.

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