I was nine when we lived overseas for a year. My dad’s job had moved us there. My closest friend was Leo, and we did everything together.
One evening, just after sunset, we were wandering our neighborhood with nothing to do. I kept noticing a dark streak flickering at the edge of my sight, moving from one house to the next. I brushed it off, thinking I was just tired.
Then Leo stopped walking. ‘Did you see that?’ he asked, his voice low. I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I knew.
At first, I thought it might be a large bird, as they were common and swift there. But the way it moved was wrong. It seemed to pace us, staying just out of clear view. The feeling shifted from curiosity to a slow unease.
The streetlights flickered on. We passed by the apartment buildings, their entryways lit from within. Through the glass doors, I saw it again—a tall, dark form standing motionless in an empty stairwell, looking out.