in a dark waterproof grinned at her from behind the front wall of another untidy house. In one hand he held a black plastic bag that he was about to place inside a rubber
dustbin.
‘Er, yes.’
Inside the cavernous hood of his coat, the man’s pink face was shiny with rain; the broad bifocal lenses of his glasses were speckled with droplets of moisture and disguised eyes she
sensed more than saw.
‘Nice to see the place up and running.’ His Brummy accent was thick. ‘The son still around then? You with him?’
‘Sorry, what? No. I’ve just moved in—’
‘Not seen him for a bit. He’s been ill. Better now then? Fought so.’ The neighbour seemed happier to do the talking, or the telling. He rolled his eyes knowingly. ‘I
wondered when he’d get his act togever. You the first then?’
What did he mean, the first new tenant? ‘Er . . .’ But then Stephanie realized she did not want to give the man the impression that she was the only girl in the house. And she
wasn’t, was she? ‘No. There’s others. And another two are coming. Moving in.’ She felt flustered and didn’t like his overfamiliar smile that could also have been a
smirk, one she was unable to meet with anything but wariness. ‘My boyfriend—’
‘Good to hear it. His dad been gone a while. Him carrying on the family tradition, eh?’ The man seemed to find this comment about Knacker extremely funny and guffawed to himself for
longer than was necessary; he didn’t seem to be aware that Stephanie wasn’t encouraging his mirth. ‘Might pop round, eh, and see you all some night soon. Bin quiet round here,
like, since his dad died.’
She had no answer, or anything to contribute to the mystifying conversation and its intrusive tone, and began to wonder if the man was crazy. ‘Gotta get on.’
‘Ta-ra! Might I say I’m very impressed, like, if this keeps up.’
Stephanie didn’t look back. She hurried on, still shaky from the confrontation with the youths and now confused by the neighbour.
As she closed the front door of number 82 she made a wish that all strangers would leave her alone forever. But of her encounters so far this evening, all in less than one hundred yards of the
house, she quickly understood that another engagement with a stranger awaited, and this would be the oddest and most sinister contact yet.
The tall figure at the end of the hallway, a man she had never seen before, did not move his head as she came into the house more hastily than usual.
The man continued to stare intently at the solitary door at the foot of the ground floor corridor, situated on the right hand side. His long neck reached out of the scruffy brown puffer jacket,
his forehead placed close to the ivory paintwork. He seemed to be listening with his eyes closed, while also issuing the weird suggestion of reverence, or prayer, his gangly body remaining
perfectly still.
Stephanie picked up the post from the floor. It was stacked inside a red rubber band. Though none of the mail could possibly have been for her, she just felt a need to do something other than
stand uncomfortably still.
She turned the light on. ‘Hi,’ she said to get the man’s attention, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it.
The man did not speak or move. What light seeped through the hallway revealed short red hair, pale skin and a freakish height. His thin neck was distinguished by a pointed Adam’s apple,
the skin of his jaw coated in shaving rash and a fuzz of coppery stubble. From his long feet, clad in dirty white trainers, to his gingery head, he must have been six foot seven or more.
As the period of time in which he ignored her lengthened and became acutely uncomfortable to endure, Stephanie’s thoughts filled with reminders of the voice in the bathroom, her invisible
neighbour, her first room, and the mysterious male footsteps that walked this floor each morning, and possibly bolted up the stairs to the Russian girl’s room on the
dustbin.
‘Er, yes.’
Inside the cavernous hood of his coat, the man’s pink face was shiny with rain; the broad bifocal lenses of his glasses were speckled with droplets of moisture and disguised eyes she
sensed more than saw.
‘Nice to see the place up and running.’ His Brummy accent was thick. ‘The son still around then? You with him?’
‘Sorry, what? No. I’ve just moved in—’
‘Not seen him for a bit. He’s been ill. Better now then? Fought so.’ The neighbour seemed happier to do the talking, or the telling. He rolled his eyes knowingly. ‘I
wondered when he’d get his act togever. You the first then?’
What did he mean, the first new tenant? ‘Er . . .’ But then Stephanie realized she did not want to give the man the impression that she was the only girl in the house. And she
wasn’t, was she? ‘No. There’s others. And another two are coming. Moving in.’ She felt flustered and didn’t like his overfamiliar smile that could also have been a
smirk, one she was unable to meet with anything but wariness. ‘My boyfriend—’
‘Good to hear it. His dad been gone a while. Him carrying on the family tradition, eh?’ The man seemed to find this comment about Knacker extremely funny and guffawed to himself for
longer than was necessary; he didn’t seem to be aware that Stephanie wasn’t encouraging his mirth. ‘Might pop round, eh, and see you all some night soon. Bin quiet round here,
like, since his dad died.’
She had no answer, or anything to contribute to the mystifying conversation and its intrusive tone, and began to wonder if the man was crazy. ‘Gotta get on.’
‘Ta-ra! Might I say I’m very impressed, like, if this keeps up.’
Stephanie didn’t look back. She hurried on, still shaky from the confrontation with the youths and now confused by the neighbour.
As she closed the front door of number 82 she made a wish that all strangers would leave her alone forever. But of her encounters so far this evening, all in less than one hundred yards of the
house, she quickly understood that another engagement with a stranger awaited, and this would be the oddest and most sinister contact yet.
The tall figure at the end of the hallway, a man she had never seen before, did not move his head as she came into the house more hastily than usual.
The man continued to stare intently at the solitary door at the foot of the ground floor corridor, situated on the right hand side. His long neck reached out of the scruffy brown puffer jacket,
his forehead placed close to the ivory paintwork. He seemed to be listening with his eyes closed, while also issuing the weird suggestion of reverence, or prayer, his gangly body remaining
perfectly still.
Stephanie picked up the post from the floor. It was stacked inside a red rubber band. Though none of the mail could possibly have been for her, she just felt a need to do something other than
stand uncomfortably still.
She turned the light on. ‘Hi,’ she said to get the man’s attention, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it.
The man did not speak or move. What light seeped through the hallway revealed short red hair, pale skin and a freakish height. His thin neck was distinguished by a pointed Adam’s apple,
the skin of his jaw coated in shaving rash and a fuzz of coppery stubble. From his long feet, clad in dirty white trainers, to his gingery head, he must have been six foot seven or more.
As the period of time in which he ignored her lengthened and became acutely uncomfortable to endure, Stephanie’s thoughts filled with reminders of the voice in the bathroom, her invisible
neighbour, her first room, and the mysterious male footsteps that walked this floor each morning, and possibly bolted up the stairs to the Russian girl’s room on the
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