The Figure in the Garden

Amy moves in to a house that at first seems fine, but before she's seen through her first night she learns that the house isn't as perfect as it first seemed, and someone doesn't want her living there

   I can distinctly remember this time last year vowing I wouldn’t be doing this again any time soon. Yet here I find myself moving house again. And unfortunately I’m moving into another rental property.

   Like many others I dream of home ownership. But it’s difficult to scrape the needed deposit together when rent prices are high and continue to be driven higher due to high demand. I know I’m not the only one in this situation, but knowing this doesn’t lessen my frustration.

   This new place is a lot nicer than my last one, though my weekly rental payments hurt more with an increase of forty dollars a week. But renters can’t be picky, it comes down to applying for everything in your price range and accepting the first offer of a lease.

   I should be in bed sleeping now. It’s passed midnight and it’s been a long day. And because it’s been a long day I’ve been consuming high caffeine energy drinks to keep me alert. The problem now is though I no longer feel alert I still don’t feel tired enough to sleep.

  It’s late. My first night in my new house is filled with new noises I try to rationalise. In my drained state I jump from one possible cause to another, the former fuelled by exhausted paranoia while the latter attempts to calm me with logical explanations.

   When I turn any taps on too quickly the pipes in the wall rattle and thump. They echo throughout this silent night, making me wonder if the noise bothers the neighbours.

   I’ve been sitting at my dining table near the kitchen for the last twenty minutes. I sat to eat, finished doing that ten minutes ago and now I’m still sitting, lethargy settling in for the night and making it hard to get up off the chair. Along the northern side of the house are windows that run along every room of the house from the front up to the back. The windows now double as mirrors, and I see my reflection compliments of the dark outside the windows.

   I look through my reflection to the garden outside. It’s lit eerily with the light of the full moon and consequentially is hauntingly beautiful. Nothing moves outside, everything is calm, motionless; the plants seem to be holding their breath in anticipation. I’m aware I’m holding my breath in anticipation also.

   I walk down to the front of the house, all the while looking out at the garden to the north. A feeling of uneasiness creeps over me and my imagination. Sensing somebody behind me in the otherwise empty house I turn around and look behind me, half expecting to see somebody while hoping with every ounce of my being I don’t.

   I am alone

   Nobody is there.

   This uneasiness is not pleasant, and I realise it must be made worse from the fatigue that sits on my shoulder slowly increasing in size.

   I close the curtains in the lounge room, shuddering at the thought suggesting someone is watching my every move. I try to ignore the feeling. I’d felt it periodically today and just assumed some of the neighbours had been watching me moving in and that was responsible for the feeling. Now though, I’m not so sure.

   It’s late. Other than the yellow glow of the street light out the front there are no other lights on to be seen, including the surrounding quiet houses.

   I walk back down to the dining room to check the back doors are locked. I’m surprised at the relief I feel when I check and find they are locked tight. I go to the windows to pull the curtain across, but not before looking out into the moonlit garden.

   What I see stops me. There is a figure. The figure is standing in the garden. And he stares. I stare back, too afraid to look away.

   The figure flickers, and when he does I can see right through him. Besides the flickering, he is motionless. He stares at me, five metres away.

   Remembering the doors are locked gives me little sense of security. Without looking away, I grab for the curtains hanging open to my right and pull them right across the window in front of me, blocking the figure from my view. I can feel the figure and his dead eyes still staring at me through the curtain. Whoever " whatever he or it is seems to be seriously pissed off, and I get the distinct impression he doesn’t approve of my moving in.

   I walk down to the front lounge on my way to bed, and going against my fear I glance out the small gap left between the closed curtains. The figure is still standing in the same place, the same position. Staring. Flickering. His dead eyes stare into me. I look away, my mind frantically trying to rationalise what my eyes have seen as I run and dive into my bed. As I scramble to get under the covers I feel a great sense of self-gratitude for thinking to make my bed earlier in the day.

   I lay under the covers. All is silent. A little too silent. My ears strain hard to hear what’s going on, and hear nothing. The adrenalin racing through me brings an acute sense of awareness, too acute. I lay still as stone for what feels to be forever.

   Every little sound I think I hear my mind analyses in an attempt to determine if it’s cause is natural or by something else.

   I lay in bed under the covers in a tight self preserving ball, heart racing, muscles tense readying my body for fighting or running.

   Eventually when no threat comes to pass persuasive sleep wins, stealing me away into a dreamless few hours, and I awake to find my new bedroom lit up from the sun lighting up the light beige curtains. Last night seems an eternity away as I get up to go and look out in the garden.

   The morning sun casts gentle morning shadows from the plants in the garden along the ground toward the street out the front. A gentle breeze blows life into the garden, a huge contrast from the garden that had been sitting there, apparently suspended in time last night.

   I look to where the figure was last night. There is no one there.

Please check out my blog post - Behind the Figure in the Garden for information on the real life experience that influenced this piece.

Author's Note

Would love to hear your feedback...your thoughts on the character, did you feel they were real? Did you form an opinion of them? As you were reading were you wondering what would happen next? If this was the first chapter of novel would you be interested in continuing reading it? Thanks for your time!

Reviews

[TheFemininePad]

Angela, members of this website can't see your blog unless they are your friend on here. I sent you a friend request though. The line that reads " Remembering the doors are locked gives me little sense of security." My suggestion for this line is " Remembering the doors were locked gave me a little sense of security." You did a great job writing this story. I enjoyed reading both of your writings. Thank you for an excellent read. Yes I would be interested in reading the rest of this story as well.