Gemotions

The knock at the door was sharp, startling. It wasn’t a regular knock; it was insistent. He peered through the peephole. Mrs. Henderson, her smile impossibly wide, was standing there. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the lock. The weeds in her own yard were a jungle, he remembered. Why would *she* want a garden?

He opened the door a crack. “Yes, Mrs. Henderson?” His voice was a strained whisper.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Davies! Just wondering if I could maybe, possibly, perhaps… use a small section of your yard for a little vegetable patch. Just a tiny corner, really." Her eyes darted around, taking in every detail of the porch.

He imagined her, digging in the earth, close to the property line. Watching. He felt a prickle of unease on the back of his neck. “I… I’ll need to think about it,” he mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady. He quickly closed the door and bolted it. He pressed his back against it, listening to the muffled silence.