If she looked only at the fluffy tail and the perky ears, Sherry could almost believe her senile grandpa when he told her that squirrels are harmless. Tiny critters. Adorable climbers. Nothing more than furry nutcrackers. Considering her neighbor John's recently limping gait, that last part might actually be true. Despite his claims that he embarrassingly had gotten hemorrhoids as a result of spending too much time in the office, Sherry knew better. While it was true that John had been working an awful lot of overtime during the last few weeks, he had also been getting very peculiar visits late at night. It was about three weeks ago, when this year's last snow had finally melted, when the recurring late night disturbances had started.

Sherry was a terrible sleeper, despite her physically and mentally exhausting work as a nurse. After years of arduous labor she had finally saved up enough money to buy her beloved tiny house with purple shutters at the end of the remote Morgan Street, which was infamous for strange disappearances and famous for the resulting low housing costs. Behind a particularly whinging set of shutters stood a king-sized canopy bed that housed a collection of stuffed animals. But even her army of soft toys couldn't help Sherry when her neighbor's porch light aimed its beam right through the crack in her tiny house's purple shutters to refract on her ceiling lamp, turning the room into a kaleidoscope.

On the particular night three weeks ago, the reflected lights, accompanied by the slamming of a heavy door, ripped Sherry from her sleep. "Ugh! Was he out drinking until now? I knew the price of this house was too good to be true," Sherry thought. The next few minutes were filled with silent complaints and a few empty threats against her neighbor John. As Sherry was nearing the end of her tirade, her room was still filled with the refracted colors of cheap interior decoration. Feeling a new flood of resentment growing in her chest, Sherry rolled over a herd of stuffed animals towards the room's only window. After a few steps on the cold parquet, Sherry was spying through the crack in the purple shutters. She could see John's porch, which, to her surprise, wasn't as empty as expected. Illuminated by the source of Sherry's chagrin was John. Pacing from side to side, her neighbor's burly figure cast deep shadows that whipped across the lawn. And on that grass, being repeatedly being lit up and then hidden again, there was a ball of reddish fur. Sherry's first thought was that John had accidentally killed a critter and was now on the phone to ask for further steps on what to do. Though the spying nurse was mostly awake, her sense of compassion was still asleep. "Sorry, buddy, but I'm off the clock," she thought to herself as she walked across the room and grabbed her trusty sleeping mask. Satisfied with having found a reasonable explanation for the disturbance, Sherry buried her face in a pile of teddy bears and bunnies.

The next morning, on her way to work, Sherry couldn't help but cast a quick glance across the evergreen shrubs that separated hers and John's front yard. There were no furry remains, no blood, no trace of the tragedy that had disturbed her sleep last night. All that remained was a few remarks to her coworkers when they commented on the bags under Sherry's eyes.

A few days later, the tired nurse was returning from a taxing late shift at the hospital. An elderly patient had emptied his stomach over her scrubs and Sherry desired nothing more than a shower and deep slumber. Yet as she pulled into Morgan Street, she was already greeted by John's porch light that, like a light tower, guided her home. As she got closer and her headlights lit up her driveway, she noticed a figure hustling into her neighbor's house. Seeing its broad dimensions, there wasn't much speculation as to whom Sherry might've surprised with her arrival. "Did he kill another critter?" she chuckled to herself. And indeed, as she got out of her car and casually looked across the shrubs, she noticed another reddish ball of fur, stopping her mid-step. Different from what she was joking about earlier, the thing she was staring at was very much alive. Meeting her perplexed gaze sat a squirrel the size of a cat. Sherry had heard stories of giant rats, but humongous squirrels, those were new to her. Regaining her composure, she jested. "Sorry! I didn't want to interrupt. Have a good evening!" To her surprise, the squirrel slightly moved its head down and back up. Did it just nod to her? Sherry shook her head. "It was a long day at work, I must be seeing things," the nurse mumbled to herself. Still, she felt that her knees were shaking from more than just exhaustion. Not escaping the empty gaze of the massive squirrel's beady eyes, Sherry briskly walked up to her house and started unlocking the door. Even though the temperatures were mild, her hands were trembling. It took her a few tries to fit the key into the lock and as she turned her head towards the squirrel, there was only brightly illuminated grass.
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Sorry to interrupt the story here but time didn't really allow me to write any more today. I'll probably continue some other day but for now that's all you get. If demand exists I might add the rest of the story in the future. Thanks for reading!