Till Next Time Or……
The next afternoon, a car with Georgia plates pulled up. Marcus Junior—a tired-looking man in his early thirties—helped his mother load suitcases into his trunk.
Dorothy was wearing a purple bonnet and sunglasses, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Ralph watched from his porch. Marcus Junior walked over.
Marcus Junior: “I’m really sorry, you have to through this man. For everything.”
Ralph: “Not your fault. Take care of your moms.”
Marcus Junior: “I will. We are getting her into therapy. And maybe a seniors’ living where they have social group. Something that would keep her mind healthy.”
They shook hands. Marcus Junior got in his car, Dorothy in the passenger seat.
As they pulled away, Dorothy looked back one last time at Ralph’s house. Then they turned the corner and were gone.
That evening, Ralph sat in his truck in peace. No engine revving. No shadow shows. No mysterious noises. No bonnet-wearing stalker.
Just silence.
Keisha: “You okay out there?”
Ralph: “Yeah. It’s quiet.”
Keisha: “Too quiet?”
Marcus: “Nah. Just how I like it quiet enough me.”
He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and finally—FINALLY—relaxed.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A car drove by. Life on Jackson Street continued, normal and peaceful at last.
Mr. Fred watched from his porch and raised his glass of Chardonnay in a silent toast.
The bonnet lady was gone.
The nightmare was over.
THE END