I could not sleep the night when I first heard it. That sound. That clicking sound. Like old fashioned shoes upon a parquet floor. The sound appeared to come from the driveway in front of my apartment building. No parquet flooring there, only gravel and tar. As I glanced at the glow-in-the-dark dial of my wrist watch, I wondered who could possibly be taking a walk at two in the morning.
I listened again, intently, reaching over to switch off my ceiling fan, so I could hear better. The clicking went on, like some restless soul pacing back and forth. Quick, small steps. It had to be a woman. Out alone? At this hour? Didn’t she know it wasn’t safe? The longer I lay in bed, the more curious I got. Was she a neighbor? Was she waiting for someone? The cadence of her step painted a picture of anxiety, of desperate energy. My balcony had a clear view of the driveway. I had to know who it was.
I sat up and swung my legs off the bed. The floor tiles were icy against my bare feet. I sat still for a second, my ears straining to hear that sound. But it had stopped. Perhaps she was still down there. Shuffling over to my balcony door, I turned the handle. With a squelch, the rubber lining of the door gave way, and I pushed it open. A blast of chilled air hit my face. Ignoring it, I tiptoed to the railing. I didn’t want her to see me spying. Leaning over the wrought iron, I scanned the driveway. The night was dark, but I thought I saw a slight figure standing by the fused streetlight. Standing unnaturally still. Facing me, swathed in shadow. She’s probably just waiting for someone, I told myself. And yet I couldn’t shake this feeling of uneasiness. Of dread. I hurried in before she could spot me. I locked my balcony door and climbed into bed. As I drew the covers up over my head, I found my heart pounding.
Then it began again. The clicking. Only this time it came from my balcony.
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