I walked past my neighbor’s house in the morning most days to take my kids to the bus stop. By neighbor, I mean someone about a block away which I guess is more neighbor adjacent really. The point though, is that every time I walk past their house, I hold my breath and hurry past, so I don’t have to breathe in the absolute stench.
It reminded me of the time I’d emptied the fridge before a vacation but forgot to take out the trash. We had come home to the smell of rotting chicken casserole. It took days to air out the house and it still makes me gag when I smell it cooking.
That’s the smell of that house. Rotten chicken casserole and spoiled meat.
I never saw any people there, except for Halloween night when we were trick or treating. The smell wasn’t as bad that night though and I don’t know how I would have even approached that conversation if it had been.
“Hi, you don’t know me but I walk past your house every morning and it makes me want to vomit?”
Hard pass. I’d rather live with the stench than the memory of having had that awful conversation.
I felt for the people who lived closer to them though. Their next door neighbors probably hated them. Could you imagine trying to air out your house or open your windows for a cool breeze and letting the smell of rotten chicken casserole in instead?
I’d move.
Or suck it up and talk to them. Get them a nice scented candle and some febreze.
And if things had stayed the way they were, I would have probably just sucked it up every morning and power walked my way past that house every morning till my kids could drive to school themselves. But of course I’m not that lucky.
It was such a nice routine.
I was taking an evening walk, just me. Getting a little time without the kids plus getting a little exercise in, when I realized I was walking past that all too familiar house. I glanced over and got a quick peek through their basement window.
A woman lay on the floor, her red hair blended in with the pool of blood surrounding her like a morbid halo. Her eyes were open, staring unblinkingly forward. Next to her crouched one of the men I had seen on the porch passing out Halloween candy a few weeks before. His mouth was open wide. I absently thought that his teeth looked just like the viper my son had been writing a school essay om and talking about nonstop.
Our eyes made contact.
I had stared in that window too long.
He grinned and licked the blood that was dribbling down his chin.
We moved at the same time. I didn’t look back until I was inside my house with the door locked but his laughter followed me home.
I don’t think the smell from that house was rotten chicken. But I was close about it being rotten meat.
He’s knocking on my front door now. I don’t know if vampires actually need permission to enter your house or if that’s a myth and he’s just taunting me. My kids are in their room watching a movie. My husband is sitting next to me looking at me like I’m crazy as I clutch the little handgun we bought for protection.
I don’t think it will help.
I’ve typed this all up and I’m posting it online now. If I don’t make it through the night, if we don’t make it, I want someone to know what happened.
Vampires exist. And it’s never worth it to peek through your neighbor’s window at night.