It was a windless summer night, the streets were empty and the lights were off in every house. He was making his way back home on the rusted bike, the wheels would give off a high pitched squeak every turn. The atmosphere felt particularly nerving, he focused on the road ahead and felt his heart's heaviness fade.
The bike's squeaking didn’t help the haunting atmosphere of the street, the orange hue of the lights and the shadows of the houses stretching onto the street like a monster's claw reaching for him only made his back cake with cold sweat.
The more dilapidated the houses, the more lights that shone through the windows, the calmer his roiling fear calmed, until at last he made it. The front door was covered in rust and the paint was peeled to the point the original color was questionable. Pulling the keys from his pocket he unlocked the door and walked into the small home.
He breathed a sigh of relief, he wasn’t usually this scared but the quietness of the usually noisy neighborhood made him anxious. Remembering the conversation of his fellow coworkers' folktale only made it worse. The town he grew up in had a harrowing tale that left all the townsfolk fear the night, certain parts of the town weren’t willing to leave even a light on in case of attracting the bad luck that followed it.
He bent over to untie his shoelaces and placed his shoes by the door. He turned to the kitchen and grabbed a knife and walked to the bathroom. The bathroom was filled with steam from the showers, he turned his head and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. It was a blurred mess, wiping away the red flow of water from the mirror he once again smiled.
It was perfect. A masterpiece colored in rosy red.
