In My Own Head

I’ve long wondered what type of story could feature a dog walker / pet sitter. My first thought is some sort of crime or mystery thriller. My job is perfect for certain types of activities. Think about it. I drive from house to house every day. What if I were to leave something behind at one of those houses. Something that someone paid a lot of money for. I have thought about that as the plot of a story or of the unsuspecting person walking in and finding a murder victim type of deal.

None of those ever seemed appealing. The first because I don’t want anyone to think I am into those types of activities and the second because I’m not a fan of the unsuspecting person solves a murder stories.

It came to me the other day. I was standing in a house and the recessed overhead lights were on. I didn’t think those types of lights could be on a timer. Then I remember the client telling me about all the lights they had on a timer and not to worry there won’t be anyone else in the house. They didn’t say there wouldn’t be anything else in the house.

Add this to what I thought was a missed red flag when they mentioned what their previous sitters have done or what they’ve done when they’ve had sitters in the past. They even had to look up the pet sitter door code. After I found out how little bladder control the elderly dog had I thought I knew why they’ve had so many different sitters.

The fail nail in the coffin of this story is that the house is freezing. With the high heat it is common for air conditioning to feel colder than normal but this house feels like a walk in freezer, and we know demons and ghosts like it cold. It all adds up to what could be an interesting story. Now all I need to do is make time to write it.

That’s only the beginning though. I thought of this story a couple days ago and now I think about it every time I visit this dog. I wonder if this house really is consuming my soul and if on the last day of service I will never return. Maybe it’s not even anything supernatural. Maybe there is a Leatherface type fellow hiding somewhere in the house ready to carve me up and serve me for lunch.

This is what happens when I start thinking. I don’t stop and now whenever I am at this house I’m thinking. It’s good to be thinking of a story. It’s a whole other matter to be worried you’re living it.