28October
Ive been racking my brain all day about the odd woman who lives in the flat above the corner shop on the high street. It all started when my mate Harry, the chubby lad who never puts a foot wrong, swore up and down that the strange lady on the ground floor is a monster. I was chewing my chocolate bar, halfforgotten, while Harry tried to hide it inside his textbook during the maths test. The teacher spotted the rustle and docked his mark, but Harry didnt even care his attention was glued to the rumor.
You heard the one about the lady with snakes for hair? They say she prowls the streets at night and gobbles up children, he whispered, eyes wide. Id heard on the evening news about two tenyearold boys whod vanished a fortnight ago, but I thought Harry was just spouting nonsense. Still, his story lodged in my mind like a pebble.
The woman in question behaved as bizarre as any folklore creature. She only ever stepped out of her flat in the evenings or when it was dripping rain, always shrouded in a dark hoodie that hid her face. Nobody in the block knew her name, her age or her occupation; the curtains in her windows were always drawn tight. If anyone tried to chat, she would slump against the hallway wall and stare through the hood, never uttering a word. The older tenants called her the recluse and the odd one, shaking their heads whenever they saw her slip out.
I overheard them one afternoon:
Just got back from the shop with bags full of groceries, and there she is, leaning against the wall, barely blinking. No hello, no goodbye.
Its like shes terrified of people, like theyre a plague, one of them muttered. Ive seen her at about eleven at night, slipping out like a shadow. Where does she go?
Their gossip stuck with me, especially after my history lesson went pearshaped. I was called to the board and blundered through a line about King Harold, pretending I knew something. The headteacher gave me a stern look and a solid two, which only added to the gloom. Then, during break, the school bully Barker cornered Harry, calling him Harry the Fat. His cronies Tom and George laughed, snatched the croissant Harry was about to eat and flung it around.
Give it back! I shouted, already knowing I was getting into trouble. I never let a mate be bullied, not after the last time Id stood up for a friend and ended up with a detention. Barker smirked, Look whos defending the plump one! The whole class started calling us the Skinny and the Chunk. It was absurd, especially since I was the scrawnier of the two.
In my haste to snatch the croissant back, I knocked over the globe on the teachers desk. It shattered, cracking in two, just as the geography teacher, Mrs. Natalie Thompson, walked in. She gave me a cold stare.
Matthew, stay, she said. I approached the desk, trying not to meet her eyes. She leaned in, What are you doing, boy? Youre supposed to be decent.
She paused, her gaze heavy, and I felt my stomach drop as if I might be sent to the headmasters office. Luckily, she decided not to call my parentsjust to have me help her sort the textbooks after school.
I spent two hours lugging heavy volumes, cleaning the classroom, and watching the rain patter against the windows. By the time I left, the sky was a thick, grey bruise, and the streets were slick with drizzle. The cold seeped into my bones, and I trudged home, cursing how unfair life could be. Id only tried to defend Harry, and yet I ended up the one punished.
When I finally managed to get home, I took the familiar route through the park, the one Harry and I always used after school. The trees were bare, their branches clawing at the overcast sky. A shiver ran down my spine as a thought of the recluse flickered through my mind.
What if shes out hunting now, waiting for a lonely boy to stumble into her path? I muttered, quickening my steps. The wind howled, and I felt a sudden weight on my back as my schoolbag dragged me down. The old stone footpaths were slippery, the kind of thing teachers always warned us about when wed carry the heavy textbooks.
Then I heard footsteps behind mesoft, deliberate, a male voice calling, Hey, lad! Wait up! It was a man in a dark coat, his face hidden beneath a hood. I froze. The old rule rang in my ears: never talk to strangers, especially in an empty park at night.
My bag snagged on something, and I stumbled. The stranger reached out, gripping my shoulder strap.
Why are you running? he asked, his tone oddly gentle.
I wanted to scream, but my throat was dry. I caught a glimpse of a glint under his hoodiesomething metallic, perhaps a knife. The park was deserted, the streetlights dim, and the rain drummed a monotonous beat on the benches.
Just then, a figure leapt from the shadows, a smaller, wiry man in a similar hood. He tackled the stranger, sending us both sprawling onto the wet gravel. I scrambled to my feet, heart hammering, as the larger man let out a guttural scream that seemed to shake the very air. A strange, guttural sound followed, like a choking snort.
The streetlights flickered on, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scene. The smaller attacker knelt over the larger mans neck, his hairlong and blacksprawling like a veil. A womans face emerged, pale as a sheet, eyes gleaming with a yellowish fire. She was the recluse from the block, the one Id only ever seen from a distance.
Her mouth was smeared with blood, two sharp fangs protruding. She brushed the crimson away with the cuff of her hoodie as if it were nothing more than butter. In a flash, she vanished into the mist, leaving the fallen mans lifeless body sprawled on the gravel, a dark pool of blood spreading around his throat.
I ran thenharder than Id ever run beforethrough the park, past the rusted gate, and burst into my flat. My parents werent home; I slammed the door behind me, panting, ears ringing from the nights terror.
I decided I would tell no one, not even Harry. What would they think? That a vampire had saved me from a murderous thug? That the woman on the ground floor was a creature of the night who preferred adults to children? I was certain my parents would chalk it up to childish imagination, and Harry would doubt my story entirely.
For days after, I glued myself to the television, waiting for a news bulletin about the body found in the park. Nothing came. Three days later, a brief mention: two missing boys discovered dead in a mans flat in the suburbs. No mention of how the man died. The officials seemed reluctant to stir panic about a possible vampire prowling the streets.
Eventually the news stopped, and my mind drifted back to schoolwork, to the upcoming Christmas break, to the chatter about snow that finally arrived at the end of December. Harry and I were heading home from the chess club, laughing about a clever move, when the recluse slipped out of the building. Harry, eyes still glued to his chessboard, didnt notice her. I saw her first: a pale face, a flicker of blood on her lips, and those eerie yellow eyes. She glanced at me, then drifted away, her figure melting into a swirl of fresh snow.
Later, Harry muttered, Thats the odd one from the ground floor! I didnt answer. I just watched her fade into the whitewashed street, wondering how many more secrets lay behind those darkened curtains.
—
Looking back, I realize I spent so much energy defending friends and worrying about strangers, when the real monsters sometimes wear the most ordinary coats. The lesson Im left with is simple: courage isnt just about standing up to bullies; its also about seeing the truth behind the shadows and not letting fear dictate the way you walk through life.
