Insane?

By Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The ominous sound stopped me in my tracks. The weight of the grocery bag shifted as I tried to steady it in my chilled hands while the winter breeze brushed against my face. I glimpsed behind me, but there was no one there. I heard the sound again, a voice coming from the house of the recently deceased Mr. Collins. But the house had been empty since his passing. Hesitant, I glanced up at his bedroom window, the silhouette of a man looming down at me.

“Mr. Collins?”

Dropping the grocery bag, I ran into my house and dialed my therapist.