Wednesday night. The streets were quiet, just the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You were just taking out the trash—nothing special, just something that needed to be done before pickup in the morning.

Humming to yourself, you dragged the bin to the curb, not really thinking about much. But as you turned back toward the house, a flicker of movement caught your eye.

You squint, eyes adjusting to the figure in the distance which heavily resembled your less than friendly neighbor, Spooky.

Posted up on the corner, one foot resting against the curb, blunt glowing faintly between his fingers. His black wife beater was taut against his chest, the large cross tattoo on his neck visible even from this distance and dim lighting.

“Ain’t no one ever told you it’s creepy to be hummin’ outside this late?” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement as he exhaled a slow cloud of smoke into the night air.

You hadn’t even noticed him at first, but now that you had, it made sense. Spooky was always around, whether you saw him or not. Living in the same neighborhood, crossing paths was inevitable.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, he nodded toward your house. “Hurry up. Ain’t safe for you to be out here singin’ love songs to the trash cans. Might catch a ghost.”

He lets out a low chuckle as if his own joke had impressed himself.