The September Lockdown

September is a month of transition, when our lives become--Busyness.

Our lives can run the mill--sometimes uncontrollably. But we have to sometimes put that aside--at least, long enough to notice the little things.

Ignore the subtle--at risk.

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Todd had gotten on the bus to school just a few hours earlier, and Janine was already ready to throw in the mummy towel. But it kept wrapping around her. The single mother still had to plod on-- she went through her routine in the small town, trying frantically to rush through endless errands before her son returned for lunch.

The small town prided itself on its civil readiness-- all citizens responded in synched time to the call of sirens. Lockdown practice was mere child's play. Janine barely noticed the peaking decibels, chalking them up to traditions that did chaotic dances in her ears. But this sounded more---

Alluring.

Persistent.

Like a call to somewhere-- unworldly.

Still, she brushed the thought aside and paid quickly for her groceries. She didn't want to leave a little boy wailing outside her home.

This year's call seemed--

Different. The wails refused to end.

Hurried breaths over a YouTube video broadcast.

The street emptied of her neighbours almost as quickly as it ended.

"Mommy, everyone ran home faster than the Flash." The 11-year-old Todd whisked his head around, taking in the chaos. "What's happening?"

"Just an extended drill, Todd. Don't worry about it." But her words and heart were an uneasy mismatch. The hairs on her arms stood on end--

Too straight.

She was at the cutting board, trying to execute perfect slices of cucumber, when she felt a tugging on her sleeve.

It was Todd.

Her usually stoic son's fish was deathly pale.

He gestured wordlessly to the backyard.

A figure that at the pots of dandelion she had painstakingly nurtured from scratch.

Unmoving.

Featureless.

Hollow eye sockets.

It remained still, watching,

Janine froze herself, knife in mid-air.

The figure turned--just enough for it to catch the corner of her eye.

The sirens wailed louder.

Todd whispered, pointing. "Look Mum. It's swaying. Like your dandelions."

Janine's pulse quickened--Todd.

She moved towards it, knife in a tight grip.

The figure stretched towards them. The doors creaked.

Todd pulled her back. "Not now."

The figure tilted its head-- its teeth were in a sharp snarl.

Blood seeped out of its temples.

The sirens deafened.

Janine's breath caught. Todd.

It was fight-- or flight.

The figure moved towards Todd, arms outstretched.

Janine's knuckles were white on the knife's grip.

Then, the siren softened.

The figure backed into the garden.

Facing them. Staring.

Todd nodded. "It moves with the call."

The figure lingered in the garden, fixing them with an empty gaze, its presence louder than the sirens.

Not to be ignored.

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Original microfiction by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.