Scamper

 

It started with a scratch.

A faint skittering behind the walls of the old houses lining Elmwood Street. Too soft for adults to notice, but the kids heard it. Every day at dusk, just as the sun slipped low and the shadows got long.

They called it Scamper.

No one remembered who came up with the rules. When the scratching started, you had to run. Hide. Stay completely still. If Scamper found you, you were “out.” Last one hiding won. They played in basements, under porches, between hedges, giggling breathlessly until the sound faded.

It was just a game.

Until Georgia vanished.

She’d hidden in her closet during a round. The others waited for her to jump out, grinning, but she never did. Her flashlight was still on the floor, beaming across an empty space. No footprints. No signs. Just the scratch-scratch-scratch in the walls, closer than ever.

After that, no one played Scamper.

The scratching still comes at dusk, now louder and quicker, circling the empty houses. Waiting.

And sometimes, if you’re very quiet near Georgia’s old porch, you’ll hear a whisper under the noise.

"Come out, come out… I’m still hiding."

***

193 words

Another fairly short one that I think I could expand, but honestly now I just want to combine this with Knobbles and create some creepy haunted house collection.