Identity Crisis

Could she really be the eccentric neighbour from the day before?

- Teresa Ashby

Luke typed the magic words, ‘The End’, pressed save, then leaned back in his chair. He always felt there should be bells and fireworks when he finished the final draft of a manuscript, but he was perfectly happy to look out at his secluded, sunny garden and breathe a contented sigh.

He could sit and watch the birds all day and often gazed out at the idyllic scene outside his study window when he needed to think. The garden was a perfect respite from the gritty crime novels he wrote.

As his thoughts turned to his next book, something pink, white and scruffy appeared on the lawn and made a beeline for the seed scattered under the bird table.

A chicken! It had barely any feathers. Poor thing. He’d noticed the gentle clucking coming from next door a few times since he’d moved in, but had no idea what sort of conditions the poor creatures were kept in.

Then he saw the woman stalking it.

She was crouching down, looking like some sort of wild woman as she scurried along close to the ground. He might have known this place was too good to be true and he’d end up living next door to some sort of lunatic.

Her blonde hair looked like an old wire pan scourer that had turned into a tangled mess. As he watched, she looked up, tripped over her cardigan and fell flat on her face.

‘Ouch!’ Luke winced and jumped to his feet. If she was from the house next door, then she was responsible for the big unruly garden with its strange noises. Sometimes he awoke to hear blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night, which was great for a writer’s imagination, but not so good if you were lying awake expecting to be murdered.