Luna
Mr. Bridger is missing, missing in the sense that I haven't seen him return home for the last two days. I try my hardest not to sneak into his home from his backdoor, but I can't help it.
Anxiety surges in me standing outside his home at the witchy hour at night. I can't see anything. It will put me in a mess if I turn the flashlight on my phone.
A gust of cold breeze blow on me. I squirm, feeling moist mud and unnamable weeds under my feet. Barefoot, I slowly walk closer to the closed window, assuming it would be his bedroom's window.
Stalking a stranger was never on my wish list. But how am I supposed to stay rooted when uncertainty is kicking me inside mercilessly?
I press my nose on the cold glass, narrow my eyes to see if anyone is there. But I can't see anything except
