They were a curious lot at No. 39. Mr Flannagan at No. 43 had always insisted so. They gave him the creeps.
All varieties of strangeness coming and going during the night. Candles on during the day. This wasn’t that sort of neighbourhood.
Mr Flannagan was watching. Just waiting to make his move.
No! Enough! That’s going too far.
A knock on the door. Without awaiting a reply Mr Flannagan barged in. The light was blinding, the sound hypnotising.
The door clicked shut behind him. All was quiet. All was dark.
…Mr Rogers at No. 43 didn’t like the look of those at No. 39.
This is my entry in this week’s 100 word writing challenge over at Friday Fictioneers.