He looked in both directions along the side of the house, past the shrubbery that grew along it. The bushes were knee-high, and grew right up alongside the house. No one could hide there – and no one was. There was nothing.
He looked at the stubbly winter grass, hoping to see some kind of depression in the blades, some indication of a foot that had passed by. Nothing.
He looked at the trees in the backyard, the oak and pecan, and the few lonely pines. Only the oak tree was big enough to hide someone standing behind it. Jeff darted to the side suddenly, reindeer raised like a samurai sword, hoping to surprise whomever might be behind it –
There was no one behind the tree.
He backed his way up to the door, carefully looking all around as he went.
There was no one here.
He stepped back inside, took a final look around, and then shut the door. The locking deadbolt sounded loud and final in the cold December air.
The lights stayed on. And then, finally, Jeff’s footsteps retreated inside the house.
Next to the door, the two-foot-high shrubbery twitched a little. The leaves parted the tiniest bit.
Had Jeff been in the yard now, he still wouldn’t have been able to see. Only by crouching down, by squatting on all fours, could he have glimpsed the human eyes that squinched up in merriment deep within the branches. But he would have heard the giggles, soft and innocent, that drifted into the night air.
The branches rustled back into place, and the giggles died away. And everything was silent once again.
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Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
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