Gemotions

The sunlight seemed too bright as he considered his neighbor's request. Mr. Evans, always so jovial and friendly, had approached him while he was mowing the lawn. “Mind if I plant a few herbs, just along the fence line? My soil’s not the best.”

He stared at the perfectly manicured lawn, his own work. He watched Mr. Evans’ easy smile, and he felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The fence line was *his* boundary. His sanctuary.

He agreed, but the words felt like a betrayal. He watched Mr. Evans walk away, then immediately returned to his shed to retrieve his security camera. He spent the rest of the afternoon positioning it to get the best angle on the fence. He reviewed the footage on his computer several times.

Every rustle of leaves, every shadow, made him jump.