Life on Bay Street had always been quiet. Nothing ever happened.
Well, there was a fire a few weeks back; the Johnson family lost their shed in that. And a police car drove through with its sirens on, but that was only taking a shortcut. Nothing untoward, really.
So when my neighbours suddenly died in mysterious circumstances, the whole street was abuzz. No one was really scared, just curious. The only deaths we’d had on the street before were a couple of foxes that wandered into the area and someone’s cat.
There were a few rumours: burglary gone awry, gas leak, asbestos…the usual rumours that arise when people have no clue, I suppose. I wasn’t bothered, personally. They were annoying neighbours, I’d say.
Too friendly. Every time they saw me they’d say “hello”, run over to me and start asking me anything they could think of. Even the things they’d asked just the day before. I didn’t want them dead, that’s for sure, but I was glad they were gone.
For me it opened the way for a new, quieter neighbour…hopefully. Someone who would give a “good morning” wave and then head back inside. Someone…normal, I guess.
6 Bay Street remained empty for some time, which was unusual for a house in this area. I guess it was the “mysterious circumstances” thing, but eventually someone did start looking around.
And then, a month later, he moved in.
He was a quiet guy, as I hoped, though looked to have a fair bit of money; to be honest I don’t know why he moved to Bay Street. The houses weren’t expensive, and they weren’t anything special really. I guess he just wanted to be in a quiet neighbourhood.
Didn’t see him much, though. Maybe a bit too quiet for my liking. I didn’t even know his name, so I nicknamed him Mr. Sharp. A reference to his dress-sense: those suits looked bloody expensive.
Eventually, though, I decided it was about time I went round and said hello.
That probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve had in my life…