They were coming to get him, he knew deep down they were always watching contrary to his family’s belief.
His curtains were always drawn, hiding the windows that are permanently nailed shut, his house now a tomb, his safe sanctuary.
The spy hole in the front door has peeling paint surrounding it, warn down from years of looking out over and over.
He hears them all day and all night, sometimes he hears them in the walls, tapping and scratching to remind him that they are always there.
He has twenty four hour surveillance, the multiple screens are the only thing that burn brightly on his tv screen. His sister won’t come see him anymore, she feels violated by the constant tracking of her every day movements.
The corners of his house are littered with log books, the pages oozing with the comings and going’s of any human life in the neighbourhood.
People call him crazy, he hears what the people in the street say about him, the local kids stand at the end of his drive daring each other to knock on the door.
He is a myth and a legend now, the old man that no one ever sees, “he worships the devil” some say, “he has dead children in his basement” people whisper…. they say all these things but he doesn’t care, he knows things that they don’t, he will be prepared when they come and then he will have the last laugh.
He sleeps with his eyes open, he acquired that specific skill in the war, no one can surprise him and he is always prepared, an armoury of weapons fill his kitchen.
He has waited twenty three years for them but he is patient, he knows they are coming, he knows for sure……
And so he waits, everyday………