Liar

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The man who stood beneath the tree on the front lawn had come to hurt his mother. Of that, Travis felt certain.

The boy stood just a few feet behind the blinds, not touching them, his hands curled tightly on the edge of the desk behind him. The lights were out in the house and with the blinds angled in this way-yes, he was fairly sure he could not be seen by the man. The window wasn’t open very far, just a few inches, and the screen was in place. Travis’s pajamas were dark in color, wouldn’t give him away. More likely his pale face would reflect the moonlight.

He’s not looking at me anyway, Travis reassured himself.

The man was staring toward his mother’s window. He had not moved for the last few minutes.

The small anniversary clock on the desk chimed once. Most other children who were Travis’s age were in bed by now, but he was allowed to stay up as late as he liked. Travis was, his mother was fond of saying, the oldest eleven-year-old in the world.

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