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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-09-23 18:15:50+00:00.

There’s something strange about the little boy from down the street.

Our new house was in a nice little neighborhood on the outskirts of a large metropolitan city that wasn’t known for its hospitable reputation. So you can imagine my relief when I found my little family a cute little abode in a mostly retirement-age community. While there was no age requirement, almost all of the residents of Springcrest Village were sixty years old or older. They’d abandoned the busy city life to live out the rest of their days in a new upscale community where they found fellowship with people with shared life experiences.

Springcrest had everything they could ever need. It was situated right next to this fancy golf course, ideal for keeping those old joints moving. A well-maintained pool, excellent for keeping their aging skin nice and leathery for all to admire. Most importantly, there were no schools nearby, which meant no pesky children to ruin the old folk’s peace and quiet.

We drove into our new picturesque life and were met with a multitude of smiles and waves. Ricky and I are a middle-aged couple, something rather strange to see driving down the roads of Springcrest Village.

‘Maybe they thought someone’s adult children had come by to visit Mamma and Poppa?’ I imagined them thinking as we drifted past the identical housing. Everyone seemed really kind. That is until they noticed the Penske truck tailing behind our little Corolla. Their faces changed from looks of welcome to emotions of disgust. Some gesturing over to their spouses to come and look at the impending tragedy. The Yellow moving truck sped past them and I saw a few grumpy old men throw their hands up in frustration.

'So much for a warm welcome." I thought to myself. I looked over at Ricky as he journeyed onward unfazed by the many twisting looks.

Our car slowed over to the side of the street, coming to a halt in front of our new forever home, leaving the driveway spot available to the moving truck. The movers got straight to work.

As the rolling door on the Penske truck clinked against the metal stopper, the sound of metal on metal echoed through the quiet neighborhood.

“Let’s get to work boys!” The driver yelled at his mostly college-aged laborers. The commotion brought many silver-haired women and grey beards to the windows, some coming out onto their lawns to show their disapproval with their hands placed firmly on their hips. To say that I was extremely uncomfortable was an understatement.

I itched my arm in an attempt to quell my nerves. Ricky noticed my uneasiness and wrapped a hand around my shoulder. His embrace worked for the most part, and the old folks looking on slowly vanished from my mind as I looked up at Ricky’s face of admiration taking in the sight of our little three-bedroom home.

“Mom?” I felt a tug on my pant leg and looked down to see Daniel, our seven-year-old son, trying to get my attention.

“What is it honey?” I said as I patted a hand on the back of his head in a comforting gesture.

“Look.” He pointed to the neighbor’s rose bushes. It took a minute to realize Daniel hadn’t suddenly become an avid rose connoisseur

Beyond the many reds and whites of the flower petals, through the thorned bushes, and hidden behind a little angel statue, were a pair of little eyes peering out at us. It was a little boy.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief when I realized that Daniel would not be the only child in our neighborhood.

“It’s Okay honey, go say hi.” I gave Daniel an encouraging shove as he hesitantly took a few steps forward.

“H-Hi.” Daniel quivered but the boy behind the statue seemed to shy way behind the angel’s comforting stone body. Daniel looked back over at me, searching for some kind of instruction. I waved him forward, he took a few more tentative steps.

“I- I’m Daniel.” Daniel outstretched a hand in a manner we’d taught him to do, a cordial introduction. The boy seemed to completely disappear behind the angel as his hands now gripped its hard exterior. Daniel took a few more steps until his arms brushed up against a few roses. Just then the frightful boy darted through to foliage, snagging his shirt on one of the thorn branches. His little orange tee shirt ripped as cotton fabric clung to the sharp twigs. With surprising agility, he leaped over some of the rose bushes and disappeared from view. Daniel stood there confused, granted I was too.

“Strange boy,” Ricky said.

“Yeah, strange indeed,” I said under my breath while still trying to make sense of the situation.

“Come on Daniel. Let’s go pick out your room.” Ricky shouted. Daniel snapped out of his surprise and ran his little feet into the house. Just then I too came out of my stooper.

“Wait, take your shoes off, it’s new carpeting!” I yelled. As we all walked through the door, I couldn’t help but return my gaze to the little angel statue, once again, the boy’s little eyes peered out from behind as the door slowly creaked closed.

***

Daniel was Homeschooled. We’d never trusted the public education system. Often, kids don’t get the attention they require, most times they are just names on some roster. Ricky and I knew this. Soon after we got married we concluded that I would stay home and school our children ourselves. Hence our disregard for adequate schooling near Springcrest Village.

Unlike many other home educators, we as a couple felt we were more than qualified for the task of molding our young son’s mind. Ricky was a professor at a community college about a half hour’s drive from our new dwelling, and I had my masters in social work, though I no longer practiced. Ricky made plenty and I had my hands full with our rambunctious seven-year-old.

On this particular day, Daniel and I were working on long division. Yes, our second grader is slightly more advanced than the normal school curriculum, something Ricky and I loved to take credit for. This aptitude however did not grant him the same level of patience.

“Aww, mom. I don’t get why I have to learn this stuff.” He wined while laying his head on our kitchen table, his eyes firmly planted on the vivid imagery coming from the other side of the window.

“Now Daniel, I know this is hard but you have to try and focus, just a few more practice problems and we can stop for the day,” I informed him. To my annoyance, he returned a disrespectful grunt. I couldn’t help but scowl at his rudeness.

I reached for the ruler on the table and planted a mild slap on the tip of his nail bed.

“Ouch!” Daniel retorted, bringing his hand to his mouth while huffing a few hot breaths of air as if the mist could ease the pain. He eyed me with a mild sense of anger. Yes, I hit my son.

His eyes slowly started to melt from a look of anger to one of understanding.

“Sorry, Mom.” He said as he lowered his eyes. It’s not often that a kid relinquishes his emotions when they know they did something wrong, which made me proud of my boy. I caressed his face, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him into a pucker. I brought my nose in and glided it back and forth on his like I used to do when he was a baby.

“I’m sowwy my little cupcake.” My baby voice made him shy away.

“Mom.” He said with an inflection, I gave a mild chuckle. Just then I saw his eyes turn to the window, a look of surprise plastering its mark on his face. I turned to whatever caught his eye and gave a slight jolt as my eye met the glass.

On the other side, stood the boy from the first day we’d moved in. He was dirty, wearing the same orange shirt as the day he spied us from the rose bushes. His arms were scratched, visible streaks of red running down his skin, it must’ve been the rose bushes that’d done it. His face had an aura of judgment to it.

“It’s that boy,” Daniel whispered. The boy on the other side would not lose his connection with my son. Seconds turned to minutes, and it started to get a bit awkward, more than it already was.

“Mom?” Daniel said with a questioning change in pitch.

"Can I go say hi? I looked into my son’s eyes and realized that it had been some time since he’d socialized with someone his own age. Guilt washed over me. Sometimes I forget that Daniel needs to interact with people his age.

I gave him a somber smile, I could tell Daniel knew I was mauling his question over in my mind, a grin inched his way across his face, one that said ‘Come on please’. I slammed the book sitting on the table shut.

“Okay go, but we have to do a few extra problems tomorrow.”

“You’re the best mom!” He said as he shot out of his chair and made his way to the front door. I remained sitting at the table, as I lost Daniel from view, but just then I remembered the kid at the window.

A shiver ran down my spine as his eyes were glued on me, I don’t think I’d ever seen the boy blink. That is until I saw eyelids closing horizontally. My skin crawled. His gaze trained on me, the sound of the front door unlatching in the background. From the right corner of the window ran Daniel, an excited pep in his step.

“Come on let’s go play.” The strange boy lost his connection with me and ran off onto our front lawn. Falling on the grass and rolling around in its green pigment that now added to his already filthy shirt. Daniel tagged him and the boy gave chase. The two ran out of sight.

I stood there contemplating what I’d just seen, Ricky’s words on move-in day replaying in my head.

‘Strange boy.’

“Strange. Strange indeed.” I whispered.

.…

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