Day 281 - Neighbors Story

Neighbors Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Miguel had a very bad feeling when he went outside to get his morning newspaper. He felt like someone was watching him. He tried to look around nonchalantly just in case someone actually was watching him, but if they were, he sure couldn’t tell. Miguel was new to the neighborhood. He didn’t feel comfortable yet. He didn’t know anyone. He still felt nervous when he met people on the street or saw them walking from their cars to their houses. He would wave or nod, but he wasn’t getting any responses back to soothe his worried mind. He was the outsider here – real or imagined, it was how he felt. It was how he felt today, even though apparently no one but himself was even outside.

That night, while sitting in his kitchen, Miguel felt the sudden urge to go outside and look at the night sky. Summer had broken and the weather was turning cool, but not too cold yet. He was closer to his back patio, but instead he went to his front door.

It was a nice night – clear with bright stars above and a cool crisp air that made Miguel feel alive. He stood there for a moment, admiring the sky above. He always loved the stars at night. They gave him hope, inspiration. He always dreamed of owning his own home and being able to look at the night sky from his house. He knew it was silly, but he felt like he had finally made something of his life. He had his dream. He had it in his hand – it was his reality. The stars above were his stars. This was what he was always going to see from his home from now on. He felt an ownership over his reality. He was truly happy.

There was a shooting star in the sky and Miguel took it as a good sign. He made a wish for the future and was filled with hope.

Miguel turned to head back inside when something strange caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Someone was at the end of the block, standing next to the stop sign, looking in Miguel’s direction. Miguel turned for a better look, but there was nothing there. Were they gone? Had they been there at all? Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe he caught a shadow or something in his peripheral vision and his brain filled in the other details and was playing tricks.

Miguel stood there for a long time, a sick and nervous feeling growing inside him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling watched. No one was there. But what if there had been? Did one of his neighbors have a problem with him? He vowed to find out. This was his home now. He wasn’t going to let some xenophobe ruin his new home and new life.

He went to sleep still upset and angry, but no longer nervous.

The next morning Miguel woke up with a new purpose and drive. He was determined to get to the bottom of things, even if he had to go knocking door-by-door.

He went outside to get his paper, and his purpose and determination suddenly shriveled upside him.

They were all watching. His neighbors all stood outside their houses, eyes glued to his front door as he exited. None of them moved. None of them spoke. They just stared in an unwavering way that chilled Miguel. His nervousness returned. He didn’t understand what was happening here.

They stood and stared. Miguel stood and stared back.

Then more doors opened and more neighbors stepped outside.

Miguel took a deep breath, trying to muster up the courage to do something. He didn’t know what, but he knew he should do something.

Then they started to walk towards him. Silently, wordlessly, expressionlessly, they came. Step after step, a slow progression into the slow shambling mob.

Miguel took a step back, his fear taking over. He stumbled backwards into his house, shutting the door behind him.

Miguel ran to the phone and called the police. He looked around for a weapon of any sort. He had never wanted to own a gun, but now regretted that decision as he settled on a handy Chef’s Knife.

Miguel carefully went to check the door. There was a mob there, standing, doing nothing. They just kept pressing in closer and closer, blocking him in. He ran around the house. The neighbors were everywhere – at the windows, at the back patio door, at the backyard gate. He was surrounded. Sealed off inside. His home had become his prison.

Then the knocking began. The neighbors rocked back and forth, leaning in, pressing and pounding against the walls, the doors, and the windows. It was a slow beating rhythm. Over and over and over again. They just thudded their bodies against the house. It was like an instinctual repetition, a communal purpose. They were one. A unit. A collective hive or thing. They weren’t people. They weren’t neighbors. They were just the strange unrelenting horde.

Miguel slid further and further back into his house. He was trapped with no hope of escape or rescue. His dream home had become his nightmare.