The Burglar

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The clouds seemed to be playing hide and seek with the stars that night. The twinkling little dots were hidden behind those murky swirls one moment, and on the other, they shined as clearly as crystals studded in the dark, velvety night. The moon was no stranger to their antics, yet it seemed to hang sullenly beside them as if it were the Eeyore to their Winnie, Piglet and Tigger.

Maisie was turning her gaze toward the terrace where she stood when a moving figure caught her eye. The person had a white hanky on their mouth and cast furtive glances at the street before rushing to the house at the end of the street. It was still under construction and had other houses lined after it on one side, and bushes and rubble on the other. The person grabbed hold of the metal gate and swung their legs to reach past it.

Sirens flared in Maisie’s head. She couldn’t fathom as to why a burglar would target a house that didn’t even have residents. Then it occurred to her that maybe that house had a path to reach other houses inconspicuously. Oh my God; she shuddered. She was a good, responsible citizen and would not allow crime to happen, not on her watch. Her mind resolute, she ran to the edge of the terrace before the thief could run out of sight and threw her hand out, the words on the tip of her tongue, when she was suddenly stopped by a chortle, followed by peals of genuinely delighted laughter. A laugh so rich, she probably would have closed her eyes to enjoy the sound, had it not been directed at her. But it was. The silhouette of a girl on her neighbour’s terrace shook with laughter that increasingly irked her with every passing second.

“What?”

“You silly girl, he’s just a bricklayer. They all sleep on the site after work,” she said, chuckling.

 

Photo by Min An from Pexels

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