MOTION DETECTED

There it was, shadowy, slightly hunched over, but there, nonetheless. Rose stared at her phone. She didn’t know what to think. Whether she should laugh or cry. She was dazed. Slightly zoned out from months of sleep apnoea.

The fridge door was wide open. The light reflected in the kitchen window. It was as dark as coal outside, impossible to see. Rose glanced back at her phone. A vibration shook the coffee table it was sat upon and made her look. Lately, the neighbours’ cats had been setting her alarm off, wandering into her garden. The sound of their meows was picked up and Rose would listen to them in the middle of the night.

This was no cat. No cat was that big, that human looking. It did resemble some kind of human, just not the humans Rose was used too. Still with her phone in her hand, face upwards so she could watch it, Rose walked over to the kitchen, shutting the fridge door, which made the kitchen turn dark.

Surrounded by blackness, the dim light from the security camera was the only thing shining. The shadow didn’t move, just stood at the far side of the garden like a statue. Tonight, it was windy. Not so much that it would be considered a storm, but just enough to make leaves on trees or bushes sway in the breeze.

The shadow wore some kind of cape. The material was unclear, Rose just knew it blew every so often. She had been taking some very strong medication for a few weeks now, to help with her sleeping. They didn’t seem to be working however, she doubted her own eyes.

Her eyes, her brain, they all had a habit of manipulating her. As she focused on the shadowy figure, she kept muttering to herself over and over.

“It’s probably a wonky tree. A tree that’s blown over in the wind and now looks like a crone.”

Trees don’t make a habit of growing limbs, however. The more Rose zoomed on the screen, pinching her fingers and thumb together, she could quite clearly see there were fingers.

She glanced at the time on her phone, 3.45am. She was delusional, over tired, just as the doctor had said she would be.

Rose stood inches away from the back door. It was just a few feet away, if she only opened the door, she could see it for herself.

“What if it ran away like birds when they’re disturbed.”

Rose paced the silent kitchen. The taping of her feet and the occasional pitter patter from the kitchen sink taps, nursed her into a gentle relaxation. She closed her eyes, looked up at the ceiling and meditated right there in the middle of the kitchen. She leant on the dining room table for support.

One breath in, one breath out. In for three, out for five. Her lungs felt tight, her chest trapped in her own cage. Rose let out a large sigh, the weight of her problems, her tension eased and with her eyes finally open she glanced back at her phone.

During that time, it had locked itself again. Rose looked down at the woman in the black mirror, all pale with purple bags under her eyelids. She touched it gently with her thumb. The bright light from her phone lit up the kitchen saying. ‘03:50’ Asking for her passcode. Rose saw her wallpaper. It was simple, it was nondescript, it was basic, it was a red swirling abstract image that came with the phone.

‘061255’

Her birthday, nothing special. The phone opened on the camera. No longer was the shadow hunched over. As though she’d imagined it, everything vanished. She felt goosebumps crawling up her arms and rubbed them up and down viciously, it was chilly downstairs.

Then Rose heard it from her phone, as it buzzed in the palm of her hand and from outside the window. One of her potted plants being knocked over, smashed on the flagstones.

There was nothing on the camera. No sign of any caped black shadows.

Zooming in, Rose caught a glimpse of something in the corner. She blinked over and over as though she was imagining it. A grey head of hair, long and nestled. She knew this hair anywhere; this was her doctor. Rose stood in the middle of the kitchen shaking. She was exhausted from thinking her mind was wrong.

This was a different kind of shudder she felt, she became angry. A fury of rage passed through her, as she slammed her phone onto the dining room table and burst out of the back door.

Rose had left the security footage open on her phone, recording what happened when she set the alarm off by walking into the garden.

Her doctor was clever, but he was slow. Rose lacked foresight, weeks of prescriptions from this doctor had made her feel woozy and weak minded, but what she lacked in focus, she made up for in pure strength and determination.

The camera clearly picked up Rose, marching towards him, dressing gown floating in the wind and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. He wore a cheap black cape he’d probably bought from a Halloween shop and wore all black clothing concealing his face. His grey hair, however, blew around him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The phone picked up Rose screaming at the top of her lungs, pulling him towards her.

He looked terrified when she pulled him closer to her chest, though in the very corner he smirked, not clear enough to be seen by the camera.

“You are doing so well.” He whispered into her ear.

Judging by the way he looked above him, the white security camera scanning the lawn, he knew he was being filmed.

Rose didn’t hesitate. With a big sigh she grabbed the cracked plant pot lying on the flagstones and bashed him over the head, causing him to step backwards. The doctor lost his footing, falling into the fence that belonged to next door’s. He lay huddled in the corner. Rose continued to bash. She’d had enough. Enough of the insomnia, enough of the pills and feeling sluggish. All her anger gushed out.

“We found her phone, it recorded the entire thing, pretty conclusive stuff.” A policeman bagged up the phone.

In the light of day, Rose’s phone was dimly lit and from the clear plastic bag it was put inside it read. ‘07:45.’

The police were called at 6.45am. Reports from the neighbours that there was a noise in the backyard. Once the back door was opened, they came face to face with the doctor’s head bashed into a pulp, blood trailing down the side, the plant pot smashed into pieces. Rose sat on a rusty old metal bench she’d bought one time, to use when she was gardening. Her head bent between her legs, bloody and raw.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated.