The Rift

by J.T. Stoll

A white-haired lady watering her flowers glared as Pieter parked the White Lady under a lit street lamp. Pieter waved; she didn’t. It wasn’t the first time she’d given his ride that look.

  Pieter locked his car and walked to Neil’s place. This neighborhood, built sometime recently, had a fresh, new feel to it. Five short, parallel roads of idyllic, identical homes rose at the foot of grassy hills on the south side of town, not far from school. Neil’s dad practiced optometry, and his mom did software development, so they could afford one of these pricey, three-bedroom houses.

  Pieter knocked on his friend’s door. It cracked open, and Neil’s eye peeked through. “Come in… quickly. You weren’t followed, right?”

  “I don’t know,” Pieter said. “That grandma down the street gave me a pretty suspicious look.”

  Neil opened up the door. “Nothing new there.”