Every town has a hermit, the resident that no one seems to know-- no one ever seems to see. We have plenty of oddballs here, in Sleepy Birch, but only one mystery.
The tenant of house 1478.
I expect foggy seer eyes and a lurching body-- an eyepatch to boot. Maybe someone who resembles a sixties witch doctor, or a bloodied woman dressed in white.
I don't expect him.
I don't expect stormy grey eyes that reflect like dying embers-- don't expect the strength in his stance with his hand wrapped around the handle of the door, the way his eyebrows draw together slowly when his gaze lifts to me and then drops to my hands-- I don't expect it at all.