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Written for ONC 2023
Prompt #50: "An attractive, mysterious stranger moves to your small town. While everyone is desperate to make an impression, only you notice something a bit odd about them."
#Book Contents: some violence, strong language, and disturbing scenes. Mentions of mental-health shaming. No graphic intimacy. Heterosexual relationship. Standalone novel.
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Chapter One:
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There was something strange about the man who had moved into the house at the end of Ironwood Lane.
He caused quite a stir in the normally quiet, mundane suburb of Tarnsdale. The gossip about his arrival remained the center of attention for weeks.
"He's gorgeous," gushed Mrs. Tiana Cooper in Number Four across the street, though she was quick to assure everyone he wasn't her type. "I've only got eyes for Mr. Cooper, of course."
"As if the new guy would look twice at Tiana," Henry Russell muttered over the fence from Number Five. "That is a man of quality. With that dark hair and those eyes? Not looking a day over twenty-five and fit to boot. But Tiana wouldn't know quality if it swung a designer handbag at her face."
Millie Bailey from Number Seven had taken to getting up at the crack of dawn, ostensibly to check the sprinklers, though anyone with half a brain knew she did it to catch a glimpse of the newcomer picking up his newspaper. An actual newspaper delivered to his porch step.
"He's single," assured his immediate neighbor Julia Rogers in Number Eleven.
"How do you know?" demanded single mum Gracie Moss as they stood by her post box outside Number Nine.
"I may have taken a peek through his window. Not in a pervy way! But there's no possible way a woman is using that kitchen. It's barren. And I haven't seen anyone popping by for a visit."
"Did you climb his fence?!"
"No! But the view from my powder room peeks through those old curtains when the sun's good."
"I'm not bailing you out if he catches you peeping, dodgy cow."
Desperate housewives aside, other residents had noted some of the newcomer's peculiarities.
"He's a bit of a recluse, isn't he?" Mr. Pole gossiped with Mr. Tray on his front porch. "Don't think I've caught sight of him leave more than once or twice."
"Nothing wrong with a man wanting some privacy," Mr. Tray said. "Just look at how he's spruced the place up!"
Seemingly overnight, the abandoned gardens of Number Thirteen had been tilled and replaced with fresh soil. The trim bore a new coat of fresh paint, and the crooked picket fence had been straightened and repaired. No one could figure out when their new neighbor had done the changes, but he had certainly brought the abandoned property into line with the other Georgian houses on the lane.
It seemed the whole of Tarnsdale had streamed through Ironwood Lane to catch a glimpse of the handsome stranger at some point. "It's good to have someone in the old place," they said. "The neighborhood is better for having Mr. Lochlan Barnes!"
I remained unconvinced.
I had nothing against the man, having never spoken to him before, but something about him itched under my skin, and I could not bring myself to like him. It was something about his arrival—stealing into town overnight, the house empty one evening and filled the next morning—that just seemed odd to me. What kind of person did that?
"Well, it's not as if you're not odd yourself, Ophelia," said Mrs. Cooper when I voiced my concerns. "What with your plants and whatnot. Always too busy to invite anyone over!"
"Horticulture is my profession," I pointed out. "I am not simply antisocial for the sake of it."
I tended and germinated delicate plants for the local nursery to earn a living now, and I didn't consider that as strange as our new neighbor's proclivity for watching the street from his third-story window at all hours of the night, but no one else agreed with me.
He also had dogs. I used to quite like dogs before—well, before. The creatures who lurked on the other side of Mr. Barnes' hedges could only nominally be considered canines. The jet-black beasts almost matched me in height and growled like boat motors when someone came close to the property. The only good glimpse of them that I'd gotten had been of their large heads with tall, pointed ears and leering red eyes.
He visited the village's grocery store once a week, on Saturday, at precisely six in the evening. I knew this because I would see his black sedan pass the corner of Ironwood and Highland Row as I walked home with a pint of milk and a new weekly pulp novel from the corner shop. Depending on if widow Leeds from Number Two caught me out, sometimes I would see that black sedan disappear into Mr. Barnes' empty garage.
"You're too paranoid," Zack Khan, the cable technician from Number Ten, said. "The bloke just wants to keep to himself."
Sometimes, I wondered if they were right. If I was being nosy, and off-putting, if my insomnia was catching up with me, or maybe I was imagining things that weren't there. Surely someone else in the neighborhood would realize something wasn't quite right.
But, then, in the middle of the night, as I gave up on sleep and crossed the garden toward the little greenhouse I kept instead of a shed, I would glance over the wall toward the end of the street. The light in the topmost window of Number Thirteen would glow like a single, watchful eye, and a shadow would lean through it. I would stand in my pajamas and watch until the shadow turned away, and the window would go dark.
There was something odd about Lochlan Barnes. For some reason, I was the only one who knew it.
THE RECLUSE is my own creation and property. Its covers and chapter art are original to me and also my property. Please do not reuse my work, in whole or in part. If you see my work being misused, please inform me.
This ORIGINAL DRAFT is only available on Wattpad. If you are reading it anywhere else, it has been uploaded illegally.
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