Scarecrow of 1889
Chapter 14: Was it the ghost?

Chapter 14: Was it the ghost?

On another side of the town, when Sylvester entered his apartment building that evening, he noticed Margot, his usually cheerful ground-floor neighbour. However, this time, she merely gave him a hollow stare before retreating into her apartment with a definitive thud of her door. Puzzled by her behaviour, Sylvester paused, wondering what had upset her.

Before he could ascend the stairs, Sylvester’s attention was drawn to the grumpy neighbour from next door, who was leaning nonchalantly against the railing, eyeing him intently. Then, as if on cue, the gardener descended the stairs, passing him with a nod. Sylvester’s mind raced—had he missed some crucial neighbour meeting? Were they discussing him?

His paranoia kicked in. He couldn’t shake off the wild idea that perhaps they were conspiring against him, maybe even plotting to break into his apartment. After all, the gardener had skills with metal—could he have picked the lock? And Margot, was she somehow involved too?

Caught in his spiralling thoughts, Sylvester was startled when the gardener called out to him, "Sylvester, my mate! We thought you were just a loner, but it turns out you’ve been quite the social butterfly, eh?"

"Just busy with work," Sylvester replied, eyeing his two neighbours with growing suspicion.

The gardener laughed heartily. "No need to play it cool, mate. Margot’s spilled the beans."

Confusion clouded Sylvester’s face. "Spilled what?"

"Oh, about your lady friend the other night. No big deal," the gardener patted him on the back, his laughter echoing down the hallway. "Poor Margot took it hard, though. She’ll get over it."

As the gardener and the grumpy neighbour disappeared, Sylvester muttered to himself in disbelief, "But I haven’t had anyone over..." Could it have been the stalker Margot mentioned seeing? With worry gnawing at him, he hastened to knock on Margot’s door, desperate for answers.

"Margot, can we talk for a moment? It’s about the woman you saw," Sylvester pleaded through her door.

"Get lost, you jerk! I don’t want to talk or even see your face!" Margot’s voice was thick with emotion, muffled by the barrier between them.

"Please," Sylvester said, trying to hold his patience and sanity. He then added a bait, "I promise, no woman has been here with my invitation, nor does anyone else have my key."

Just when Sylvester thought she wouldn’t respond, the door cracked open a sliver, revealing Margot’s tear-stained face and red-rimmed eyes.

"There’s no need to pretend, Sylvester. I just... I thought we could be something more," she sniffled, on the verge of shutting him out again.

"Wait!" Sylvester interjected, stopping the door with his hand. "Please, just hear me out."

Misinterpreting his urgency, Margot swung the door wide open, her expression shifting. "Are you saying... you feel something for me too?"

Sylvester held his ground, his hand still pressed against the door. "Margot, you’re a great neighbour, truly talented. But I’ve only ever seen our interactions as friendly."

The flush of hope in Margot’s cheeks darkened to one of anger and embarrassment. Before she could slam the door, Sylvester pressed on, "Just one thing—when you saw this woman at my door, did you actually see her enter my apartment?"

Margot’s face hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. After a tense moment, she spat out, "Yes, she had a key! A key you must have given her! You’re just a liar and a fool!" With that, she slammed the door shut, leaving Sylvester alone in the hallway, more confused and concerned than ever.

A k—key? He gave no one the key!

As Sylvester unlocked his apartment door, a cold dread settled over him. His heart raced as he meticulously checked every corner of each room. The windows were as he had left them, securely locked. But then he saw it—the sight that drained the colour from his face. A used pan, plates, and two glasses sat on the counter. His kitchen, a silent witness to an unwelcome visit.

His mind raced. Two glasses? Could there be two intruders? Overwhelmed by a surge of panic, Sylvester rushed to the wall-mounted telephone, then paused, recalling his last unsatisfactory interaction with the local authorities. No, he decided, this required a more direct approach. He needed to speak to someone face-to-face.

He arrived at the parish house with his nerves on edge. Inside, he saw a constable available and approached him immediately. "Please, sit down. How may I help you?" the constable asked, noticing Sylvester’s anxious demeanour.

"I need to report a repeated break-in at my apartment," Sylvester began, his voice laced with urgency. "I’ve reported this before, but it’s happened again." He didn’t know how many times it had happened in the past, that he hadn’t noticed before.

"Were you hurt during these incidents?" the constable inquired, his tone professional.

"No," Sylvester replied, shaking his head.

"Was anything stolen?"

"Nothing’s missing," Sylvester admitted, his frustration growing.

"Did you see who broke in?"

"No, I didn’t," Sylvester confessed, and then hesitated, realising how bizarre his next statement might sound. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I feel like I’m being constantly watched. It’s like someone’s always there—when I leave for work, while I’m away, even at home. And today, someone used my kitchen, restocking groceries I don’t even like."

"So, the issue is that the burglar isn’t stocking the right food," the constable asked, one eyebrow raised.

"It’s not just that," Sylvester pressed on, desperate to be taken seriously. "I believe it’s a woman. My neighbour saw her."

"Since when have you been feeling that you are being stalked?"

"It must be a couple of months now."

The constable jotted down notes, then looked up at Sylvester. "Alright. It’s unusual, but we’ll see what we can find out. Do you have any idea who this woman might be? A woman you were seeing and stopped, who might be following you?" the constable asked, while staring at Sylvester. Seeing the latter shake his head, the former asked, "Anyone you have your suspicion on?"

Sylvester thought hard about it. The stalker being the woman in question and Margot crying her eyes out, it meant it wasn’t his neighbours who were watching him. He tried to remember the conversations he had with the women around him, and he couldn’t for sure put a finger on the person.

"Look, Mr..."

"Crowley," Sylvester said quickly.

"Yes, Mr. Crowley. I understand this is disturbing for you, but we need more to go on to escalate this. You said there’s no theft or harm. I will write down the complaint," the constable explained. "Most of the officers are involved in chasing the murderer who has been killing women and stealing their organs. We should be blessed that it is only food and not organs being taken."

"And what if my organs are stolen when I am sleeping?!" Sylvester scowled at the constable.

Once he was done talking to the constable, Sylvester stepped out of the parish house and sighed. He should have known that it would be difficult to know who or what was going on with no solid facts, except that a woman had entered his house.

Was it Samantha’s ghost that was visiting him in the middle of the night? The one whom he had loved but lost when he was young.

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