“Oh, look, Angela! Cows!” 

Angela woke to the sound of her mother, Carol Thompson, tapping excitedly on the driver-side window. “Look, they’re right outside.” 

Angela plucked the headphones from her ears, and looked outside the window of their small car. Outside, along the lone stretch of road, were dairy cattle, grazing lazily among endless rolling hills of pasture. “Awesome.” Angela said dryly, placing the headphones back on. 

Carol frowned, and continued driving. "I know the country’s not as exciting as Chicago,” she reasoned. “But Cedar Creek isn’t as podunk as you think. There’s plenty to do, and you’ll make some new friends–” 

“I have friends already,” Angela grumbled, scrolling through music on her iPod. “Back in Chicago. Why couldn’t I have just stayed with cousin Aubrey?” 

“Because she lives in Ohio, and I need you with me,” Carol said firmly. “I’m going through a lot, too. Just because I’m your mother, doesn’t mean that I have it easy.” 

Angela sighed in response. They were still a few miles outside their new home in Cedar Creek. Between leaving school at the beginning of her senior year, packing up their belongings to drive across the country, she was too exhausted to argue. Their small car buzzed along the lone stretch of road, passing by a large sign built of aged, rotting wood, adorned with hand-painted letters reading, “Welcome to Cedar Creek”.  

“Not so ‘podunk,’ huh?” Angela mused.  

Carol said nothing. She guided the car into downtown, a five-block stretch of old, late-century buildings with various shops and restaurants. It was autumn, and the trees lining the sidewalks on main-street had started to change color. They cast the town in a festive glow of red, yellow, orange, and brown.  

Carol took a right into a subdivision full of modern and mid-century homes, complete with an overhang of colorful trees. Angela thought it was all very gorgeous, but she was still in a foul mood considering their circumstances. Thus, she withheld expressing any opinion. 

Their house was located at the far end of the subdivision, a mile from main-street, in a rotunda. It was a charming, two-story home, painted baby blue with white shutters and a neatly tended lawn. The garage was built separately and doubled as a toolshed.  

Angela noticed most of the homes in the rotunda were built in a similar fashion. However, their home was more inviting, especially compared to their neighbor’s home: a rickety-looking two-story house that was in terrible need of repair. 

The house had originally been painted white, but years of neglect and weather damage had left the paint cracked and peeling. Moisture had ruined the window frames, giving everything a slightly bloated, warped look. The front porch was crooked, and there was a flickering porch light to illuminate the eerie front entrance. All the curtains were drawn in the windows, except for one that was parted slightly. It looked like there was a figure standing inside. Angela squinted to get a better view. Was somebody watching them? 

“Looks like we’re here!” Carol announced, pulling into the driveway of their new home.  

Angela turned back to look at the rickety house one last time, but the curtain had been drawn. Carol parked the car in front of the garage and stepped out of the vehicle. She stretched her legs and yawned. “What a day!” she announced, looking around. “I guess the movers aren’t here yet.” 

Angela climbed out of the car, stuffing her iPod into her back pocket. The house was nice. She just hoped the interior wasn’t rotting like their new neighbor’s home. 

Carol was unloading a few things from the car. “I guess we can unpack what we have,” she said, loading a few things into her arms. “You wanna go pick your room?” 

This was it. There was no going back to Chicago at this point. Angela forced a smile. 

“Sure,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.  

Through the front door, there was a staircase to the right. The left was an entryway into the living space and kitchen. The house walls were painted off-white, with solid wood floors that creaked lightly with each step. Angela felt that was a red flag, but Carol called it “a home with character.”  

Angela’s new room was upstairs, to the left, closest to the bathroom. She unloaded her bags in her bedroom and immediately laid out her hair iron, brush, and array of makeup on the counter in the bathroom. 

“You really need all that?” Carol mused, unloading her own bag. “You’re so pretty, Angie.” 

“First day at a new school is tomorrow.” Angela brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “Movers aren’t even here with my clothes. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” 

“Please,” Carol rolled her eyes. “You have your mother’s beauty. You’ll be fine.” 

With the exception of a few wrinkles, it was easy to say Carol and Angela looked very much alike. Some would even joke they looked more like siblings than mother and daughter. Much like her mother, Angela had fair skin, a round face with a button nose, bright blue eyes, and short blonde hair, chopped at the shoulders. Her body was sculpted from years of gymnastics and cross-country training. Angela prided herself on her appearance but was also very shy, especially given the new circumstances. Starting over at a new school for her senior year was intimidating, to say the least. 

But if she was stuck here, she may as well make the best of it. While her mother was busy unpacking in her bedroom down the hall, Angela laid out her outfit for the first day of school. After careful deliberation and not at all because she only had one suitcase of options, she decided on a pair of black leggings, a long-sleeve under-shirt paired with a flannel (this was the country, after all), and a beanie to cap it off.  

She wasn’t sure what style she should present herself as. This was a new opportunity to start over. At her previous school, she was a bit of an in-betweener. She was in gymnastics and had a select group of friends that were between the jocks and the nerds, so she could get along with almost anybody. Or so she thought. Maybe it was just that way because everyone she knew had grown up together? 

“Oh, god, I’m overthinking it.” Angela ran a hand over her face.  

She folded up her outfit and placed it on the dresser. As she moved the clothes, a photo fell out of the shirt pocket. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a photo of her sitting on her father’s shoulders. She was probably six or seven in the photo, but her father looked so lively, with bright eyes and a grin on his stubbled face. It had been a long time since she had seen him smile like that, and it only served as a reminder of how much she missed him. In the photo, she was wearing a shirt that said, “Daddy’s Girl.” Her father loved that shirt.  

She tucked the photo into her dresser and crossed the bedroom to open the curtains a bit. Her bedroom overlooked the neighbor’s backyard. It was just as unkempt and choked with weeds as the front. There was a window in the toolshed, where she could see into the space. The shutter was open, but nobody was inside. From where she stood, she could see a full palette of tools hanging on the wall. She squinted harder. Was that a scythe in there? What would they need that for? 

“I’m starving,” Carol announced from down the hall. “You want to get a pizza?” 

“Sure,” Angela replied, stepping away from the window. On their to the house, Carol had seen a pizza place that provided delivery. Together, Carol and Angela sat at their small kitchen table for dinner. Carol pulled a slice of pizza, dripping with sauce, and inspected it before taking a bite. 

“There’s too much sauce on this,” Angela grimaced, wiping her mouth with a napkin. 

“You’re just like your father,” Carol smiled. “He hated sauce on pizza. I remember we’d call Tony’s Pizza, back home, to make sure they only put a dab of it on our pie.” 

Angela took another bite and chewed. Pepperoni pizza was her father’s favorite. They used to order it every Thursday night. As Angela grew up and got busier with school and her friends, her family saw less of each other. But every Thursday night, they’d sit and eat pizza together, chatting and laughing about the upcoming weekend. It was special. At least, it used to be. Now it was just Angela and her mom. They mostly chewed in silence.  

“I don’t want to talk about dad,” Angela said dully. 

Carol frowned. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

“It’s okay,” Angela replied.  

Carol placed her hand on top of Angela’s and smiled. “I would have let you stay with your cousin if you really wanted to,” she said warmly. “I just wanted to say thanks, for doing this with me.” 

Angela forced a smile. “We’ll make it work, Mom.” 

Carol nodded. “Tomorrow’s a new day.” 

Angela nodded, a nervous shiver running up her spine as she thought about her new school. “Yep. It sure is.”   

Against her mother’s wishes, Angela walked the last couple of blocks to school. There was no way she was going to let anybody see her mother drop her off, let alone reveal the fact that she didn’t know how to drive. From what she heard, everybody in the country owned a car. The last thing she wanted was to stand out from the crowd on her first day. 

Cedar Creek High School looked more like a fortress than a school. Its dull, geometric brick architecture stuck out against the mid-century design of the rest of the town. It was built to accommodate eligible students from within a 50-mile radius. Cedar Creek truly was in the middle of nowhere. Regardless, this was where she was going to graduate from, so she may as well get to like it. 

 Angela received her schedule from the front office and found herself in History Class 211 for first period. Her class was fairly small with about 20 students. Maybe she could still blend in. She slid into a desk and slumped in the chair. 

“Hey, are you the new girl?” 

Nevermind. Angela looked to her left to see a freckle-faced young girl with frizzy red hair and auburn eyes looking back at her.  

“How did you know that?” Angela whispered back. Class was starting. 

“Small town, people talk. I’m Christine.” The girl reached out her hand to shake Angela’s. “I like your hat. Where’s it from, Forever 21?” 

“I’m Angela,” Angela smiled. “It was fro—" 

“Excuse me,” the teacher called from the front. “I was hoping we could start class?” 

“Yep! Sorry, Mr. H!” Christine waved. “Just getting acquainted with Angela here.” 

Mr. H., a tall, dark-skinned man, nodded. “Good idea,” he said brightly. “Angela, how about you come up here and introduce yourself to the class? Let’s start this year off right.” 

Angela gave Christine a hard look. Christine just smirked and shrugged in response. Angela stood and made her way to the front of the classroom. 

“I’m Mr. Harrelson,” the teacher introduced himself. “And you are?” 

“I’m Angela Thompson,” Angela replied, feeling everyone’s judgmental eyes burning into her. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Angela,” Mr. Harrelson replied. “Where are you from?” 

“Chicago.” 

There was a low murmur among the students. She couldn’t determine if that was a good or bad thing. 

“Chicago!” Mr. Harrelson exclaimed. “Wow. That’s quite a ways. We don’t get many people from out there. What brings you out into our little neck of the woods?” 

“My mom got a new job,” Angela said, biting her lower lip. “She works at the chemical plant, just outside town.” 

“So where do you live now, and can I have your number?” one of the boys asked. There was a roar of laughter, making Angela smile. 

“I live on Pawnee Lane,” Angela replied. The class fell silent. There was an awkward shuffle of feet and nobody said anything. 

“Thanks, Angela, you may take a seat.” Mr. Harrelson frowned. He narrowed his eyes to the rest of the class. “And Mr. Patterson…if you want a girl’s number, just pass a note in class like a normal person.” 

Angela sat back down, a little confused by the class’s reaction. 

“You live on Pawnee Lane?” Christine leaned over from her desk.  

Angela shrugged. “Yeah, why?” 

Mr. Harrelson stood up and began writing the classroom syllabus. Christine hesitated. “I’ll just tell you later.” 

Christine and Angela had no other classes together, so they would have to talk at lunch. There were two more periods before then, Economics 203 and Math 301. Angela was introduced to each class of students, however, she no longer disclosed where she lived. 

At lunchtime, Christine met Angela in the cafeteria. She invited Angela over to a table with her friends. 

“This is Bobby Patterson,” Christine pointed to a muscular, dark-haired boy wearing an oversized football jersey. He was stuffing a burger into his mouth. 

Embarrassed, he lowered the burger and smiled weakly. “I saw you in class earlier,” he added. 

“He’s the one that wants your number.” Christine said, giving Bobby a wink. “And this is Tammy.” She pointed to an African American girl, also sitting at the table. “And we’re the only people worth meeting here.” 

“It’s nice to meet you guys,” Angela slid into a chair. She rifled around her backpack and pulled out a paper sack. She left in a hurry this morning and just packed some leftover pizza from the night before. It was cold and soggy. She made a face, but her stomach gurgled in protest. 

“There’s a microwave, on the other side of the cafeteria,” Bobby said through a mouth of burger. “I can show you, if you want.” 

“No thanks, I got it.” Angela said politely.  

She scooped up her bag and crossed the room to the microwave. As she waited for her food to cook, an auburn-haired girl approached her. She had a thin face with stunning green eyes and pouty red lips. Her eyebrows were neatly plucked and her nails were carefully manicured. She was wearing a cheerleade outfit that accentuated a fit physique. 

“So you’re the girl from Chicago, huh?” she asked, more of a statement than a question. 

“Yeah…hi, I’m Angela,” Angela introduced herself. The girl didn’t extend her hand, it just rested on her hip. 

“I’m Jessica,” the girl replied. “I see you’re already getting acquainted?” She gestured to Christine and her friends across the room. Angela smiled. The microwave indicated her food was done. 

“I just wanted to tell you, before you get too comfortable…” Jessica leaned in. “Christine is a snake. I wouldn’t trust her, if I were you.” 

Angela raised an eyebrow.  

“I know it’s too early to judge,” Jessica continued. “I’m just telling you because you look like a nice person. Be careful around her, she’s totally fake. Like, everything she says is a lie.” 

“Thanks…I’ll keep an eye out, I guess,” Angela replied. 

“Sure,” Jessica said. “Did you do cheer?” 

“I was in gymnastics.” 

“You should come to cheer practice after school,” Jessica said. “You can also sit with us. It might be good to avoid a pit of snakes.” She gestured back to Christine’s table. 

Angela saw Christine looking at them from across the room, and she hesitated. "Maybe tomorrow?” 

Jessica looked a little disappointed. “Well, that’s fine, too,” she said, a little too sourly. Then she walked back to her lunch table.  

Angela rolled her eyes and opened the microwave. Jessica had distracted her. Now she had heated the pizza too long. Instead of cold and soggy, it was just smoldering sludge. She returned to the table, empty-handed and frustrated. 

“I should’ve told you, the microwave doesn’t stay on the same heat consistency,” Bobby said, wiping his mouth. “It just gets hotter and hotter.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Angela replied. “I think I lost my appetite anyway. I met Jessica. Is she popular or something?” 

Christine frowned and opened a bottle of soda. “Yeah, she runs with an uppity-crowd. We used to be friends,” she explained. “But then we got into high school, and she joined cheerleading. She got really, really prissy, and suddenly, I wasn’t good enough for her. Probably didn’t help that I made out with her ex-boyfriend.” 

 Angela laughed. “I’ll try to steer clear, then.” 

“Hopefully she didn’t tell you everything.” Christine winked. 

“So, you really live on Pawnee Lane?” Tammy asked. 

Angela gave her a hard look. “Yeah… Why is everyone so weird about that?” The whole table, except for Angela, exchanged glances. 

“Do you live in the very back, in the rotunda? Those other houses, except for your neighbor, are empty. Everyone moved out. The houses are just maintained by the city.” 

Angela frowned. “I didn’t know that. Why did they all leave?” Everyone was wide-eyed and quiet. Angela gave them a puzzled look.  

“Because of Old Man Death,” Tammy said quietly. “Your neighbor.”

According to Christine, Old Man Death was an elderly man who lived alone, in the back of Angela’s subdivision. The townspeople rarely saw him during the day, let alone outside his house. He preferred to be active at night. People reported agonizing screams coming from his home at random times of the night. They said his brain was infested with devils. 

Rumor had it that in a drunken rage, he murdered his wife in her sleep. Local community leaders, like pastors and care workers, tried reaching out to him but never made it past the living room before promptly being turned away. They reported a strange smell coming from his basement and described photos of a woman adorning the shelves of his living room, but the man refused to give any acknowledgement to them. Local children would sneak up to the windows late at night and report strange sounds and lights coming from the basement. They also said he ate stray dogs from the neighborhood. 

On occasion, the police were called but turned away with no warrant. It was said the neighbors were driven mad by Old Man Death and fled their homes in the middle of the night. Now it was just Angela, Carol, and Old Man Death in the back of the subdivision. 

Of course, this sounded absurd. There were plenty of reasonable explanations for these outrageous claims, and Angela had her share of past neighbors that kept to themselves back in Chicago. These people were just misunderstood and wanted to go about their business unbothered. Being a loner didn’t automatically make you violent, though Cedar Creek was a small town. Rumors spread like wild fire, so of course stories would get blown out of proportion. Christine, Tammy, and Bobby insisted the tales were true. Angela humored them, all the while secretly rolling her eyes. 

After school, Christine gave Angela a ride home, in her old maroon sedan. “So, what do you think of our little slice of paradise?” Christine mused, driving through Angela’s subdivision. 

“It’s definitely not Chicago,” Angela replied. “But I think I can get used to it.” 

“It’s not so bad once you get over this town’s crushing self-loathing.” Christine chuckled. “I grew up here, but I’m ready to get out. I want to explore, maybe move to a big city.” 

“I think you’d like it there,” Angela agreed. 

“Speaking of, why did your mom move you way out here? There has to be other plant jobs in Illinois,” Christine prodded.  

Angela hesitated.“…My dad died, of cancer,” she said finally. “My mom took it really hard. She said living in the city reminded her too much of him.” 

Christine bit her lower lip, “I’m sorry, I…” 

“It’s okay,” Angela replied. “I grew up in Chicago. I think all the noise and activity, it really helped keep my mind off him. But living here, where it’s so quiet…it’s all I think about.” 

Christine frowned and pulled up,\ a few yards away from Angela’s driveway. “If you ever need to talk…” she offered.  

Angela forced a smile. “Thanks,” she replied. She noticed Christine wasn’t looking at Old Man Death’s house. “You really are afraid of that house, aren’t you?” she asked.  

Christine shrugged. “I’ve lived here a long time,” she said. “Some things you learn to just stay away from.” 

Angela thanked Christine for the ride and stepped out of the car. Old Man Death’s house was characteristically dark, except for the flickering light on the front porch. There was no stranger watching her this time; the curtains were drawn.  

Regardless, Angela felt a particular chill run down her spine, looking at the house. She did her best to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach and walked inside her home. The movers had not yet arrived and amidst the phone conversations Carol was having with them, neither Angela nor her mother had remembered to go grocery shopping. They ordered in again and sat at the table eating pizza. 

“How was your first day of school?” Carol asked. 

“It wasn’t terrible,” Angela replied. “I met some new people. Everybody’s been really nice so far,” 

“I’m glad.” Carol bit into a slice of the pie. “They really had me hit the ground running at the office, I–” 

Carol set down her food. 

“What is it?” Angela asked. 

“It’s the office,” Carol announced. “I just remembered something about work. I have to check my calendar.”  

Angela slumped in her chair. The pizza reminded her of Jessica and the conversation about her neighbor. None of that was appetizing. Still, her stomach gurgled, and she forced herself to eat one slice. Her mother stepped back into the room, looking a little disgruntled.  

“I…have to go back to the plant tonight,” she said begrudgingly. “There’s some kind of evening orientation thing that I was supposed to attend. We don’t have service here, so my phone’s calendar never went off.” 

“That’s fine,” Angela replied. “I’ll just hang out here.” 

“You’re going to be okay by yourself?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Mom.” 

Carol packed up a couple of things and drove back to work. Angela tried to spend some time browsing her phone but quickly realized she had no cell phone service. Their Internet wasn’t hooked up yet, either. This wasn’t helping her mood but stewing about all this wasn’t doing her any good. So she went upstairs to see if there was anything left to unpack. 

On her bed were a few clothes she had left out that morning. She started folding them when she noticed a flickering light from outside. She set the clothes down and looked out her bedroom window.  

Outside was dark. Their rotunda was illuminated by a single streetlight that cast a dull glow from the opposite side of the road. There was a flashing white light coming from the house of Old Man Death. There was a single basement window exposed, though it was boarded from the outside, and inside was a drawn curtain. Still, a bit of light escaped from inside the basement, flashing across the neighbor’s lawn. 

Angela thought about the stories Christine had told her at lunch and wondered if it was all a hoax. Maybe it was some kind of new girl hazing ritual. But then again, the look on Christine’s face when she told these stories you couldn’t fake that.  

She stood there for a moment, watching the light flash periodically. What was he doing down there? It was bright, like a strobe light but with no consistent flash. It reminded her of those old horror movies with a mad scientist forging some kind of monster with his welding tools.  

Curiosity got the better of her. She slipped on some shoes and found herself creeping out her back door to get a better look. There was a rickety old fence separating the two properties. The moon was bright, and it illuminated the lawn clearly. She could see there was a small gap between the window barricade, and the curtains hanging behind the basement window. With nervous anticipation, she slipped through a hole in the fence and crept into the lawn of Old Man Death. 

She was a few yards away from the window, keeping low to the ground. Nervous sweat began to brim her forehead. She wondered why she thought this was a good idea in the first place. Part of her wanted to turn back,  jump into bed, and forget all this was happening. Yet she continued to creep forward, curiosity overwhelming her sense of danger. From where she stood, she could almost see into the basement. She just needed to be a few feet closer… 

A motion-sensor floodlight flashed on over the back porch. There she was, standing in the lawn of her neighbor’s home, caught red-handed. The flashing stopped. A door slammed from inside the basement.  

In a panic, Angela turned and sprinted back to her house, her legs springing to life amidst the threat of being caught. It had been a few weeks since she had practiced gymnastics, but her body still complied as she hurdled over the rickety fence, ducking behind a pair of bushes, just in time to hear the back door creak open. 

Old Man Death, dressed in a dirty laboratory coat, limped out onto his back porch and peered into the darkness. He tapped a wooden cane against the rickety wood of his porch. He was larger than what the stories made him out to be. He was easily 6”2’ and 250 pounds.  

She couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. The hanging light over his porch cast an eerie shadow over his face. He stood there for a moment longer, looking into the darkness, then turned and looked in Angela’s direction. She cowered behind the bushes, watching him carefully. What was his lab coat smeared in…blood? 

He stepped back into his home, and Angela was safe. She waited a moment longer before creeping back into her house.