Photo Prompt
He
often heard footsteps, an opening of the cabinet and the sound of ice
clinking into a glass. When he first moved into the house he would
scurry down the stairs, wiping the sleep from his eyes, flipping on
lights as he moved through the house, shoving his glasses on with one
hand. Every time he was greeted with nothing.
There was never an indication that anyone had been in the home - all the doors were secured, all windows closed and locked. At first he wrote it off to being in a new home. As he explained it to one of his co-workers he almost felt like he was attempting to explain it to himself, too. “Every house has noises, their own set, you know?” He would push his glasses up at this point and take a deep breath. “So that must be what it is. Yeah.” He had believed himself initially, until it happened again. And then again. Like clockwork, every Saturday night.
He settled into the house, new job, and his routine easily. He made friends, he enjoyed his co-workers, and then a Saturday night date turned into a Sunday morning drive home. He was flinging the door shut and tossing his jacket towards the chair, stepping out of his shoes within moments of opening the front door. He needed a shower, and then maybe a nap. It had been a long night. Well worth the loss of sleep, however.
He had made it two steps up the stairway when he glanced towards the kitchen and noticed something on the counter. He backed down slowly, squinting in the direction of the island. As he got closer he noticed it was a glass, a small sip of whiskey left in the bottom of the tumbler. “What the hell?” He caught himself speaking out loud and picked up the napkin set nicely next to the glass, reading the script on it quickly.
Missed you tonight. Xoxo
There was never an indication that anyone had been in the home - all the doors were secured, all windows closed and locked. At first he wrote it off to being in a new home. As he explained it to one of his co-workers he almost felt like he was attempting to explain it to himself, too. “Every house has noises, their own set, you know?” He would push his glasses up at this point and take a deep breath. “So that must be what it is. Yeah.” He had believed himself initially, until it happened again. And then again. Like clockwork, every Saturday night.
He settled into the house, new job, and his routine easily. He made friends, he enjoyed his co-workers, and then a Saturday night date turned into a Sunday morning drive home. He was flinging the door shut and tossing his jacket towards the chair, stepping out of his shoes within moments of opening the front door. He needed a shower, and then maybe a nap. It had been a long night. Well worth the loss of sleep, however.
He had made it two steps up the stairway when he glanced towards the kitchen and noticed something on the counter. He backed down slowly, squinting in the direction of the island. As he got closer he noticed it was a glass, a small sip of whiskey left in the bottom of the tumbler. “What the hell?” He caught himself speaking out loud and picked up the napkin set nicely next to the glass, reading the script on it quickly.
Missed you tonight. Xoxo
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