Gemotions

The knock on the door came just as Thomas was settling into his evening routine of crosswords and a quiet beer. He eyed Mr. Henderson through the peephole – the man's usually jovial face was stretched into a forced expression of friendliness. He opened the door, a polite inquiry hovering on the tip of his tongue. He knew, instinctively, what was coming.

"Say," Mr. Henderson began, a little too enthusiastically, gesturing to the shared fence. "Thought maybe I could borrow a bit of your yard. Just a little corner, for a few… things." Thomas’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew Henderson’s “little” projects. The "little" shed that now dominated the view. The "little" pile of wood that had sat rotting for months.

A knot formed in Thomas’s stomach. He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. The faint scent of Henderson's overly-sweet cologne drifted over, adding to his growing unease. "What kind of things?" he asked, his voice deliberately flat, refusing to be drawn into the forced congeniality. The truth was, he suspected Henderson was planning to build something else. Something large. Something ugly.