Gemotions

He found himself standing at his back door, the metallic tang of fear in his mouth. The construction crew, those guys, were always there, even though the sun was setting. The light flickered from their welding torches, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground. His neighbor, old Mr. Abernathy, had hired them.

He squinted, trying to make out what they were doing, straining to hear the conversations. But their voices were muffled by the wind and the constant clatter. They all looked the same, with identical haircuts, and he’d never seen them before.

A shiver went down his spine. He locked the door, but the sound of hammering continued, a relentless reminder that he wasn't alone. He felt a pressing need to check all the doors and windows.