713 Strawberry Street

It was nighttime when the moving trucks arrived. Under cover of darkness, the movers went about unloading the trucks full of boxes into 713 Strawberry Street. No one noticed the reclusive old man move in, and few even knew anything of importance was happening. 

Until one morning when a bloodcurdling scream woke the neighborhood. Until that morning when dogs started disappearing from the street once a month. People suspected thieves, but no one said anything. At least not openly. 

Then there was Edward. A young man of 13, most of the neighborhood dismissed his claims that there was anything out of the ordinary going on. They explained them as the products of an overactive imagination, but Edward knew something was wrong. He just knew there was something...unsavory going on. Something that couldn’t be easily explained.

“You really think the dogs disappearing has something to do with the old guy who moved into that house?” Edward’s friend, Jon asked on their way home from school. 

“It has to be. All this started after he moved in.” Edward replied. Jon rolled his green eyes in disbelief.

“You’re crazy. You really think someone like that is gonna be able to do all this? I mean, did you see Anders' dog? Clover? She was huge. Must have been a Great Dane or something. No way that old geezer could break in, take the dog without it making a sound and get out.” Jon rebutted, waving a dismissive hand as they walked, autumn leaves crunching dryly underfoot. 

“I do.” Was Edward’s only reply. The wind picked up then, running through his dark hair and making a chill run down both of their spines. The leaves swirled around their feet as they walked past an old Victorian style house, one with an immaculately trimmed lawn, though the paint on the wood was peeling in places.

The bronze numbers on the mailbox read the address. 713 Strawberry Street. Jon shivered visibly as they paused in their tracks for a second, looking up at the faded and cracked eggshell blue façade of the house. For a moment, the two just stared in silence. 

“So…assuming the old guy is behind it, how are you gonna prove it?” Jon asked, continuing their trek down the sidewalk. 

“I thought you said I was crazy.” Edward replied, following close behind, looking back over his shoulder at the house. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw someone look back at him from behind the curtains. For just a second. 

“I do. But I'm curious.” Jon shrugged, clearly trying to deflect from the creeping fear they were both experiencing. 

“Tonight. I’ve asked around and the only thing in common with the nights dogs go missing is that it happens on a full moon. Tonight's a full moon. I’m gonna stake out that house and see for myself if he’s behind it.” Edward explained. Jon risked a look over his shoulder, as if he was afraid the house itself might be listening. 

“That’s still crazy, you know that right?” He half whispered. Edward said nothing. 

The two continued walking in uneasy silence before Jon reached his house. Barely a word was spoken between them as they parted. Edward arrived home not too much later. 

That night, dinner was quiet. His parents talked about work, and occasionally Edward would speak up when asked a question, but somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling he was eating his last meal.

Dusk arrived, painting the sky a brilliant shade of orange and red to match the leaves now covering the sidewalks in front of the house. Edward waited. Though he was having second thoughts about this, he was spurred on by a sense of morbid curiosity. He had to know. He needed to know if his hunch was correct. He said goodnight to his parents and went upstairs to his room, which overlooked the opposite end of Strawberry Street. From his room, Edward had a decent view of the pale blue Victorian house. 

There were lights on inside.

Gulping down a lump of fear, Edward performed a last minute check of his supplies. He had a camera, a pair of gloves, binoculars, and a few snacks in case it took longer than he expected. As soon as the sun set over the hills in the distance, he was ready. Or as ready as he could be. 

He locked the door to his room and opened his window as gently as he could. There was a slight breeze that met his face and caused bumps to raise on his arms. He went back and grabbed his bag and jacket, slinging the former over his shoulder after fastening the latter around him tightly. 

He took a deep breath of the crisp night time autumn air before he carefully, ever so carefully, climbed out of his window, crawling along the gutters before nimbly sliding down the drain pipe. As soon as his feet found purchase on the dirt outside, he looked over to the Victorian house, fear staying his feet. 

“Get a hold of yourself.” Edward whispered to himself. 

“It’s just a house.” He spoke, he repeated the phrase over and over again as though it were a mantra to give him courage. He slowly walked towards the house. He’d planned all this in his head. He’d hide behind the bushes in the yard next door, wait until he heard the old man leave his house, and record evidence that he was taking the dogs.

But a thought disturbed him. Crossed his mind with increasing frequency as he crouched behind the bushes. 

What if he wasn’t taking the dogs? 

The thought made him shiver as much as the bitter cold wind. 

Edward had been waiting for an hour and his stomach rumbled slightly. He cast a glance over to the house before he decided to open his bag and start unwrapping a granola bar he’d packed. 

As soon as Edward opened his mouth, a noise caught his ear. The sound of a door opening. Edward’s heart pounded as he retrieved his binoculars from around his neck. 

The old man limped out on a cane, favoring his right leg heavily. Edward watched as he took a step down onto the stoop and….paused. 

Edward blinked in surprise. Why was he stopping? The old man’s back straightened for a moment as he sniffed the air in an almost animalistic fashion. Then a strange look came over him as he gazed upward at the sky. Edward realized what he was looking at. The moon. The old man shook violently and turned around to stagger back inside with somewhat more urgency.

The wind blew once again, causing Edward to shiver and rustling the fabric of his coat. It was such a small movement, so insignificant that Edward acted on reflex, not thinking of what would happen. 

And what did happen was the old man’s eyes snapped toward the bushes like some hungry animal. Edward instinctively held his breath. For what seemed like an eternity, he stared at the old man through the bushes, and the old man stared right back. Just as Edward was beginning to panic, the old man broke his gaze at the bushes and limped briskly back into the doorway, his shadow vanishing around the corner and into the hallway.

Edward blinked. Had the old man simply forgotten to close his door? Slowly, ever so slowly, Edward stood up, tiptoeing up to the entryway. He peered inside for a moment, frozen to the spot with fear. He could hear something inside the house. Something big. He thought he heard the distinct click of nails on hardwood. Gulping down a lump in his throat, Edward advanced. 

As Edward took a step past the threshold, he readied his camera. 

He was not prepared when something large, black, and covered in wiry greasy hair came bolting at him. Edward leaped back, dropping his camera in surprise. The camera’s flash illuminated the dark hallway for just a moment. Blood red eyes, jaw of snapping teeth, canines like scimitars, and claws like bowie knives  were all he saw rushing at him. 

This was no dog. 

Edward screamed and ran. He bolted down the street, unwilling to look behind him. He could feel the beast’s hot, humid, stinking breath on the back of his neck. Edward felt any second could be his last, and ran faster, faster than he ever thought his legs could carry him. Blind terror was all that propelled him forth. 

He saw his house. He quickly ran inside, closing and bolting the door as the creature banged on it, a strange, almost human like bark ringing in the night air from the other side. Edward pressed his back against the door, bracing it with his own meager weight. He felt every pound of the beast trying to ram the door down. After about a minute, there was a howl that curdled Edward’s blood in cold fear and then silence. Edward dared not look back. Even after what must have been 20 minutes and the adrenaline had subsided, he didn’t want to look. 

The morning came, and Edward’s parents awoke to find him sitting leaning against the door asleep. After breakfast Edward’s father went to check the mail, finding something he didn’t expect. A letter and a package addressed to Edward, left on the front porch. 

Edward was surprised to say the least. But he was curious nonetheless. With shaky hands he opened the letter. 

Dear Master Edward, the letter read, 

I believe this is yours. It was so hastily forgotten on my front porch recently and I saw fit to return it to you. I have taken the liberty of removing the film, however. I believe it’s for the best. As of this morning I have relocated to a new abode. Rest assured, 713 Strawberry Street is now vacant. However, I will advise you from now on to please respect other peoples’ property and leave strange doors alone.

All the best, 

Adam Wulffhart.

Edward blinked, his hands shivering as he opened the package, crudely wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine. 

It was his camera. 

From then on, Edward never saw Mr. Wulffhart again, he never saw the beast either. And for the most part, Strawberry Street went back to normal. 

However every time he passed 713 with the blue Victorian house, he held his breath and shivered a little. 

Sometimes doors are better left closed.