She was outside again, watching me. Her face wore a gentle expression, but what lay behind those dark, piercing eyes? It’s strange. I can go for weeks without seeing her, but she’d been outside, watching, waiting, every night for the past week. We’d lived opposite each other for almost ten years. I’m ashamed to say my knowledge of my aging neighbor consisted of knowing her name – Florence Walsh. Nothing else. We’d exchanged the occasional greeting, more often than not when she was tidying her yard, but that was it. She was THAT neighbor. You know the one, no matter the time of day, month, year or weather, the curtains were always closed.

Click here to read “Florence” in full.

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