It’s Sunday morning, and I’m sitting in the living room, reading some of my favorite blogs again. There’s minimal noises in the apartment. The refrigerator kicking in, the clock on the wall is ticking, and the jingle from the collars of the cats as they play.
I hear a boy outside, shouting.
“But, I love you, mommy!”
Strange. There are no children that live in this building.
I feel a tingle down my spine, but my coffee cup is empty. I must refill it.
As I get up and walk to the kitchen, I have an overwhelming urge to open the door and look outside.
I’m scared, trembling.
Instead I look through the peephole. The child stares back.