7. Charlie’s Day
CHARLIE’S DAY
“Dad, I can clean up.” I stated as I grabbed the dishes from the table.
“Thanks sweetpea, how was your day at school?” He asked sipping on his glass of sweet tea as I walked with the dishes back to the kitchen.
“Oh you know, met the new girl Charlie and had normal pep rally cheer exercises, overall pretty normal.” I paused to look at him.
“Charlie had a rough day in therapy,” he hummed.
I cast a quick, anxious glance over my shoulder, my heart pounding. "She looks okay," I whispered, but doubt gnawed at me.
Dad scoffed dismissively, a cynical edge to his voice. "Most people do," he said, as if that should ease my mind.
The dishes clattered loudly into the sink as I hurried to turn on the water, steam rising in ghostly tendrils from the faucet while I waited for it to warm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement outside—someone near the mailbox.
My stomach clenched with a strange mixture of curiosity and unease.
Initially, I convinced myself it was a neighbor, since we lived close enough to town that in the stillness of night, people sometimes wandered past. The figure wasn't moving. It just stood there—completely still, hood drawn low, watching.
“Anna?” Dad’s voice made me jump.
I spun around sharply.
"Sorry, what?" I heard his voice, distant and unbothered, yet my mind was racing.
I swallowed the question I wanted to ask—about Jessica’s party. Instead, I dared to look back toward the window. The mailbox lay silently beneath the dim street light, unchanging.
And in that moment, as my breath hitched in my throat, the figure was gone. Vanished into the shadows as if it had never been there at all.
Finishing the dishes I grabbed the carton of ice cream and Dad flicked on the TV. We sat there eating our pints watching some older show that seemed to make him happy.
After a while he excused himself to go to bed and I nodded giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he shuffled upstairs to his bed.
The old show turned off and I stretched looking over to the microwave clock seeing it’s just over midnight. I shuffled past the kitchen and towards the bathroom grabbing my toothbrush. Brushing on autopilot, I flipped on the light in my bedroom and froze.
The figure stood across the street. Watching.
Toothbrush hanging from my mouth, I stepped closer to the window.
A car rolled past. Headlights washed over the road.
When they disappeared, so had the figure.
I stood there for another minute, staring at the empty stretch of pavement before finally shaking my head.
Too little sleep. That's all it was. Climbing into bed I flipped my light off and drifted into a deep sleep.