6
The boy walked up the front steps to the well-maintained home in front of him. There was little to distinguish it from the other surrounding townhouses, other than the brightly painted mailbox that looked like a birdhouse at the end of the driveway. The sky overhead was overcast. The afternoon air felt thick and heavy, settling over him like a warm blanket. It was only May, but it seemed as though a summer storm was rolling in. The boy shifted his backpack on his shoulders and used the key hanging on a shoelace around his neck to unlock the front door. It swung open on silent hinges as he stepped inside.
The interior of the house was warm. None of the windows were open. The house was silent. The boy hesitated before shutting the door behind him. Something was wrong.
I don’t want to be
