They might have been just around the corner from our school but we never went near the bungalows. Some kids would spend every break they could watching strange hands move the curtains so stranger eyes could peer past. They were obsessed with whoever or whatever lived there.
We might have stared, we might have thrown things into their immaculate gardens but we never set foot there. Nothing thrown was worth the risks involved in getting it back. If it went over the threshold it was as good as dead to us.
At least that's what we told each other, making silent promises to never throw anything that was actually valuable to us. That ended when Gavin moved to the area and decided that anyone who bothered with the bungalows was a freak and deserved everything they got.
His out-of-town newness and confidence soon earned him a pack of like-minded boys who made it their day's goal to make us go as close to the bungalows as possible. Step by step they forced us closer and closer to those unnaturally perfect doors that seemed to vibrate on their hinges like they were seconds away from being yanked open.
And then one day one was. Her name was Sara and she'd gotten closer than any of us had before. Close enough that she didn't stand a chance when that grey arm shot out and hauled her inside before she could take a deep enough breath to scream.
The teachers didn't believe we'd be stupid enough to trespass and not one single adult checked the bungalows when they finally reported Sara missing. They're just as scared as we are, maybe even more so. Maybe they know exactly what lives there and what it does.
All we know is that Sara's still alive and becoming less human by the day.
We've seen enough glances of her past the curtains to note how she's changing.
We've found enough desiccated mice on our doorsteps to know they let her leave.
We might have stared, we might have thrown things into their immaculate gardens but we never set foot there. Nothing thrown was worth the risks involved in getting it back. If it went over the threshold it was as good as dead to us.
At least that's what we told each other, making silent promises to never throw anything that was actually valuable to us. That ended when Gavin moved to the area and decided that anyone who bothered with the bungalows was a freak and deserved everything they got.
His out-of-town newness and confidence soon earned him a pack of like-minded boys who made it their day's goal to make us go as close to the bungalows as possible. Step by step they forced us closer and closer to those unnaturally perfect doors that seemed to vibrate on their hinges like they were seconds away from being yanked open.
And then one day one was. Her name was Sara and she'd gotten closer than any of us had before. Close enough that she didn't stand a chance when that grey arm shot out and hauled her inside before she could take a deep enough breath to scream.
The teachers didn't believe we'd be stupid enough to trespass and not one single adult checked the bungalows when they finally reported Sara missing. They're just as scared as we are, maybe even more so. Maybe they know exactly what lives there and what it does.
All we know is that Sara's still alive and becoming less human by the day.
We've seen enough glances of her past the curtains to note how she's changing.
We've found enough desiccated mice on our doorsteps to know they let her leave.
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