Albert strolled around the patio multiple times. He was contemplating whether to report his finding. After all, it’s not every day you find an unknown green residue slithering around your car. what was even more concerning was the metallic odor it was releasing. the smell overwhelmed his nostrils and forced him to make an escape towards the front porch.

He turned the handle, his brain releasing a little squirt of dopamine at the familiar sound of the coming relaxation, and waited for the next of the two sounds he heard every day at 6:30: Pebble banging against the door.Pebble was Albert’s most beloved possession, well he made sure maria didn’t know about that. Thinking about his wife Maria he wondered where she was. Her illuminating pink range rover was parked outside, but there was no sign of life inside the house.

As Albert slowly opened the door here was no banging. No panting, either. Nothing at all to signify to the dog even knew he was there. After a decade of driveway-key-door-dog, it was obvious to notice the silence. He shouldered the door open, failing to compensate for Pebble’s missing weight, and stumbled over the threshold. More silence.

“Albert?”

There was a sound he noticed. He hadn’t seen Maria’s car when he pulled in, it was hard to miss a bright pink range rover in your driveway.

“It’s me,” he said, making his way slowly towards the back of the small house they shared. “How are you?”

“Good.” Maria’s voice allowed him to sigh of relief. The missing dog still nagged at him. “Where’s Pebble?”

“Down here,” Linda said. “He followed me downstairs to do the laundry.”

Albert froze with his hand an inch away from the doorknob. Pebble never went downstairs. Ever since the dog’s encounter with the neighbours pet snake it made sure to stay well clear of the basement. Thinking about it, Maria never did either, at least not since—

Not since they moved the washing machine upstairs.

“Maria? Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Her response was quick and sounded as if it has been automated.

“Are you sure baby?”

“Yes, hon.” A little softer this time, but still not right.

Albert eased his hand toward the doorknob.

“Are you going to come down and help me or not Albert Granola?” Her voice sounded stern this time, definitely sounded like Maria.

“I have a lot of cl— stuff to carry, and I can’t get to the door.”

You’re being stupid!

The voice in his head was full of contempt, but he couldn’t shake his fear. Had she just not noticed what she’d said? What else would she be carrying? Since the washing machine was relocated quite some time ago.

“Honey?”

The irritation of having to ask a third time certainly sounded normal. Albert turned the knob and opened the door.

He didn’t have enough time to see exactly what waited on him, but it wasn’t Maria. It absolutely was not Maria.