My Neigbhour

My neighbourhood.

        There is an old man who lives in my block of flats, a few doors away.   The residents avoid him.   I did too.   Ridiculous as it may seem, there is a rumour that he is a werewolf.   That the residents gave credence to the nonsense is not without cause.   He is extraordinarily dark, his thick black eyebrows almost meeting in the centre and his eyes with their hooded lids seemed to glint with menace.   It does not help that he talks to no one and nobody visits him.   Once, when I went pass his flat, I heard soft grunts and when I peeked into the flat through the slit between the louvers, the flat was so dark that I could see nothing.
      One night, I awoke in the middle of the night because it was so hot.   I went to the kitchen to get a long cold drink.   Looking out the window, a movement amongst the bushes caught my eye.   It was the man.  
      “Ah ha,” I thought.   “Now is my chance to catch the man in action.”
      I grabbed my camera on my way out, hoping to get a scoop for my school’s newsletter.     Once downstairs, I made my way stealthily to where I last saw him.   In the silence of the night, the crunch of my footsteps seemed to echo like thunder.   I knew it was only my imagination but I so afraid he would hear me coming.
      Then I saw him, crouching down on his haunches, softly mewing.   I gripped my camera, checked the setting and crept forward.   With a blinding flash, I shot him in action.   In that moment of bright illumination, I could not tell who was more startled, the man or I.   In his arms, cradled against his chest, was a tiny little kitten.   In the deep darkness left by the flash, I stood staring at him.   Suddenly, I giggled, helplessly.   The release of tension, the absurdity of my imagination overwhelmed me.   To my surprise, he started laughing too.
      “So, what did you think I was doing?” he asked.   “Did you think I was out catching rats for dinner?
      I could hear the laughter in his voice.   Obviously...