13 Mink Street

Under the dim streetlight, Jeff dropped a cigarette butt that had burned almost down to the filter onto the ground.

He quickly glanced to both sides and, out of habit, crushed the cigarette with the sole of his shoe, grinding it back and forth.

A hiss. Then, a curse.

Jeff jerked his foot. He’d forgotten that the soles of his shoes were so worn they were practically breathable, and the hot ember had burned straight into his foot.

The night wind swept back and forth along the street, carrying a bite of cold. There were almost no pedestrians left, and the few visible in the distance kept their heads down, bundled in scarves and hats as they hurried along.

Jeff flipped up the collar of his coat. The collar’s edges were shiny with old stains, but at this moment they offered him a fragile sense of concealment and safety.

Up ahead was 128 Mink Street. Numbers 50 through 200 were all row houses. Whoever lived here, whether renting or owning, wasn’t rich, but comfortably middle class.

The house before him belonged to a family of three: The father was a doctor, the mother a teacher, and they had a seven-year-old son.

A maid came during the day to clean and tidy, but she never stayed the night. After preparing dinner, she left for home.

They also had a weekly habit: Every Saturday night, the whole family went out to the theater.

The door opened, and the husband stepped out in a black suit and started the car parked outside.

Next, the mother came out wearing a red dress, holding her child by the hand. She closed the door, then got into the car with the child, chatting and laughing.

The car drove away.

Jeff ran his tongue over his lips and moved quickly. He hopped over the low wooden fence that couldn’t stop even a small dog, landed in the flowerbed, then hurried up the steps. He pulled a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock.

The crisp click told him the door had opened.

Three months earlier, when Jeff was still a moving company worker, the wife had trusted the movers enough to hand over the new house key. Jeff had used the chance to make a copy.

Back then, he had still hesitated about whether he should do it or not; he still hadn’t lost everything. Now, he didn’t need to hesitate. He had lost all he had and was drowning in debt.

Jeff slipped inside and shut the door behind him as fast as he could.

“After tonight, you’ll understand why you should change the locks after moving in.”

The first floor held an open kitchen and dining area, plus a nanny’s room in the northwest corner.

Jeff headed straight for the second floor. He kept the lights off and turned on the flashlight he had brought. Its beam flickered unsteadily.

“Damn it,” He cursed again under his breath. He knew the batteries were dying, but that was only because he had spent the battery money on a five-rupi pack of Morf cigarettes.

He banged the flashlight with his elbow a few times, and the beam brightened slightly.

The second floor held the couple’s master bedroom, a small study, and a washroom.

The third floor, being an attic, served only as the child’s bedroom.

Jeff pushed open the master bedroom door. A large bed and several old-fashioned cabinets came into view. He knew that anything valuable was most likely stored here, though he still planned to check the study before leaving.

Bzzt!

A faint crackle of electricity, followed by static.

“Welcome to the Roja Storytelling Program. I am your old friend, Alfred. The moonlight is beautiful tonight. Under such lovely moonlight, whatever we do seems to carry with it a tinge of happiness....”

Jeff jumped at the sudden sound. Looking down, he saw an old vacuum-tube radio.

“Damn it. They left the house and didn’t turn off the electricity.”

Jeff reached out and switched off the radio.

He began rummaging through the dressing table drawers. The mistress of the house would usually keep frequently worn jewelry and some household cash there. If he found a jewelry box next, all the better.

Suddenly, he heard a click. A door had opened downstairs.

Jeff nearly jumped in fright.

Next came the sound of high heels on the stairs, heading unmistakably toward the bedroom.

Jeff shoved the drawer shut and turned off his flashlight.

He was a thief, not a robber. Theft and robbery were entirely different things, and entirely different crimes in the eyes of the court.

Most importantly, he did not have the courage to be a robber.

The high-heeled footsteps approached quickly, with a hint of urgency.

He had no time to think. He dropped to his side and rolled under the bed.

At almost the same moment, the bedroom door swung open.

Click!

The light came on.

Beneath the bed, Jeff propped himself up on his elbows and saw a pair of red high heels move to the dressing table. She rummaged around, found a small pill bottle, shook out the pills with a crisp rattling sound, and swallowed them.

A series of relieved breaths followed.

He watched the woman’s high heels pause in front of the dressing table for a long while before she rose and moved again.

Then, the phone rang. The heels moved away from the bed, heading toward the small table beneath the window where the telephone sat.

The woman answered the call.

“Yes, yes.”

—

“Mm, yes.”

—

“I was planning to go with them, but I suddenly felt unwell and had to come back for medicine. Let them go ahead tonight. I’ll just rest at home.”

—

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Thank you for asking. I’m alright.”

She hung up and turned back toward the bed.

She stepped on the backs of her heels and slipped out of her shoes. One of the high heels fell near Jeff’s face, so close he could smell the leather.

The bed shifted slightly; she had obviously stretched down immediately.

A long, comfortable sigh escaped her lips.

After finishing work and stepping away from family duties, even if only due to her illness, she finally had a moment of peace. It definitely felt pleasant.

Under the bed, Jeff began considering what to do.

He regretted not masking his face earlier. Had he known the woman would return alone, he could have masked up, intimidated her into staying still, and slipped out safely.

A woman alone probably wouldn’t dare act rashly. And since he hadn’t stolen anything yet, she might even decide it was better not to cause trouble. Maybe she wouldn’t call the police at all.

But that was only fantasy. Even knowing she was alone in bed, Jeff didn’t have the courage to crawl out and threaten her.

Jeff opened his mouth as wide as possible and tried to breathe silently to ease his nerves.

I just have to wait until she falls asleep.Once she is asleep, I can just slip out quietly and leave before her husband and child return.

The woman on the bed hummed softly and flipped through her book.

Damn it. Why aren’t you asleep yet?

Jeff had no idea how long she had been reading. Time, beneath the bed, had lost all meaning. After what seemed like forever, he heard the book close. The woman got off the bed, barefoot, and walked toward the bedroom door, yawning as she went.

Is she going to bathe?

Jeff brightened with hope. While she took a bath, he could escape. But to his disappointment, he heard a click and she returned, and the radio’s static spilled back into the room.

She lay back on the bed accompanied by a creaking noise and picked up her book again.

Soft music began to play through the radio, and she hummed along.

Damn it. Is she really going to stay awake until the others come back?

A song ended, and a male voice came from the radio.

“Welcome back to the Roja Storytelling Program. We continue the story from earlier. Our heroine, Catherine, lies in bed with a book in her hand, listening to music, enjoying a rare moment of evening leisure.”

In truth, she had always envied full-time housewives. For a woman, having to work outside while also taking care of the home and a child was simply exhausting.

“Sigh...”

Jeff heard the woman on the bed let out a sigh, as if the story mirrored her own life.

But then, the next words from the radio made Jeff’s hair stand on end.

“What Catherine does not know is that while she lies there enjoying this rare moment of peace, there is, in fact, someone lying beneath her bed.”

...

The sighing and the sound of turning pages stopped abruptly.

The radio also fell silent, as if it had lost signal. Or perhaps the old machine had malfunctioned, leaving only static to fill the room.

Jeff’s heart surged into his throat. The oppressive silence made it hard for him to breathe.

“Heh... haha...”

She gave a shaky laugh. It sounded like she was trying to ease her embarrassment, to dispel the fear she had just given herself.

If the situation hadn’t been what it was, Jeff would have laughed along with her.

See, ma’am, don’t listen to that idiot on the radio. How could anyone possibly be under your bed?

But then Jeff saw a foot slowly extend down toward the floor.

The woman had shifted toward the edge of the bed.

Jeff stared at the foot, his own fists tightening.

He noticed her toes were scrunched up as well.

She seemed to want to get out of bed and look underneath. And Jeff knew precisely what she would see if she did.

But her foot, after just touching the floor, slowly withdrew.

Jeff exhaled silently in relief.

He hadn’t noticed until now that sweat covered his forehead.

But even as he breathed, he had to restrain himself. He hated this moment, hated this situation, hated the version of himself that had decided to become a thief.

Maybe five minutes passed. Jeff wasn’t sure. He had no watch and no way to count the time under the bed.

Suddenly, he saw a strand of hair dangling from the bed.

He could imagine the scene above him: the woman on the bed slowly leaning over to look beneath it.

More hair slid down, longer, thicker, until the tips nearly touched the floor.

Jeff stared blankly at the sight, unsure how he would face what came next.

Would he kneel and beg her to let him go?

Or threaten her with the harshest voice he could muster so he could escape?

The first option seemed more fitting for him.

The hair touched the floor. Then the woman’s forehead slowly entered Jeff’s field of vision.

Just a little lower. A little more. And Jeff would be able to see her eyes.

Which meant she would see him too.

Jeff held his breath. His anxiety was so overwhelming he forgot the act of breathing entirely, staring fixedly at her descending forehead.

Then she stopped moving.

It seemed she too was terrified, terrified of what she might see if she kept looking.

Although she probably knew that looking would ease her fear and doubt, she still didn’t dare.

Her hair lifted slowly back up. Her forehead retreated from Jeff’s view.

She lay back down and breathed heavily.

Jeff finally realized he had been holding his breath far too long. He opened his mouth and pulled in air silently and greedily.

His head spun, tears pricked at his eyes. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be back out on the street, even in the cold wind, where he could sit by the flowerbed smoking and spitting loudly, extravagantly, shamelessly.

He didn’t know how much longer it had been when the movement on the bed ceased completely.

She must be asleep by now. Probably.

Jeff guessed that once her husband and child returned, he would be trapped for real.

He was already terrified enough with just her here. If the man came back, he would lose whatever courage remained.

Should I wait to be sure that she’s asleep?

Jeff began shifting his position carefully. He had been lying at an angle under the bed, and now he cautiously rolled onto his back, then slowly wriggled forward, easing his upper body out from beneath the bed.

The slow, squirming motion made him feel like an enormous maggot.

His left hand pressed against the floor, his right hand braced on the edge of the bed, and he slowly shifted and pushed various parts of his body to gradually pull himself free.

The first thing to emerge was Jeff’s head.

He had turned onto his back earlier so that, as he exited, he could keep the bed in view at all times.

If he had crawled out face-down and the woman suddenly screamed behind him, he would have gone mad with fright.

He inched his way outward.

He saw the edge of the bed.

He saw the woman’s hand hanging loosely over the side.

He edged forward gently.

He saw her hair.

She must be asleep. Deeply asleep. Certainly.

Her sleeping posture was odd though. With her husband gone, she should have been sleeping in the center of the bed.

He continued sliding outward cautiously.

Jeff froze midway.

He noticed a shift in the woman’s hair, a difference in height that meant she wasn’t lying down at all, but was instead lying on her stomach at the edge of the bed with her head lifted.

Who would sleep with their head raised?

In other words, she had her eyes open... staring at the floor in front of her.

If he kept sliding out, their eyes might meet.

Jeff’s scalp tingled. Part of him wanted to just yank himself out and be done with it, but he didn’t have the courage.

In the end, utterly defeated, he slowly slid himself back under the bed.

When his head was once again hidden beneath the bed frame, he finally felt his heart drop back into place.

The space under the bed felt like a sanctuary, as comforting as being home.

Just then, he heard a car engine from outside, followed by the sound of it shutting off.

Then came the sound of the front door opening downstairs, along with a boy’s laughter.

The man and child were home.

But Jeff didn’t feel doomed. If anything, he felt... liberated.

He almost hoped they would find him, so he could bolt out.

Or be stopped and beaten by the man. Or be arrested by the police later.

Anything—even a night in a holding cell—was better than this.

A series of footsteps began climbing the stairs.

The bedroom door opened.

Jeff’s face was angled toward the doorway.

He first saw a pair of boys’ sneakers. It was the kind he had desperately wanted five or six years ago. They were expensive, the kind that made you look more confident when you walked.

Next he saw a pair of men’s dress shoes—elegant, not shining from polish but because they were new.

“Tonight’s performance was quite good.”

“But I got a little sleepy, Dad.”

“Haha. You’ll understand it better when you’re older. Tell you what, next week your mom and I will take you to the zoo, alright?”

“Really?!”

“Of course.”

“Mom, did you hear? Dad said we’ll go to the zoo next week.”

“I heard, I heard. Alright, George, go wash up. It’s time for bed. Darling, take your son to wash. I’ll go set up George’s bed.”

A pair of red high heels stepped into the room.

Jeff felt a pang. This home was warm, loving. If only he’d once had a home like this....

“Alright, alright, go wash. I’ll adjust the radio. It should be time for the financial news.”

The man fiddled with the radio antenna. The static that had blended into the night suddenly grew louder, then vanished.

“...Is this not a beautiful night story? Everyone, wherever they are, has their companion beside them. No one is alone.

Thank you for listening to tonight’s Roja Storytelling Program. Next up is the financial news. I believe you are about to make a fortune.”

Soft music played from the radio, bridging the two programs.

A fortune? Ha! How rich.

Jeff found it absurd. If he hadn’t listened to a friend’s advice, sold his father’s house, and bought a stock that was “guaranteed to skyrocket,” he wouldn’t have fallen this far.

Now the family that had been standing at the door split up. The father took the boy to wash up, while the woman went to the third floor to make the boy’s bed.

This was his chance. If he crawled out now, ran downstairs, opened the door, and bolted, he would be free.

Jeff made up his mind.

He braced his hands against the floor, ready to push himself out.

Suddenly, his whole body froze.

A scene flashed through his mind.

The woman had entered the house earlier, coming from outside, together with her husband and child. So the woman who had been lying on the bed all this time...

Who was she?!

She had been lying in the bed, so how had the returning family of three not seen her?

“Shh.”

A cold whisper brushed the nape of his neck..

Jeff, stunned, slowly turned his head.

And there, under the bed with him, pressed close to his back, he saw a pair of legs—and below them, the owner’s face.

No.

There was no “owner.”

Only the legs... and the face between them.