Harold knew he had a mouse before he saw it. One of his plants in the greenhouse had been chewed on. He noticed a few droppings on the ground, as well. Oh, dear. He wasn't afraid of mice, but he didn't want any getting into his food, or worse, his orchids.
This was before he was afraid to leave his house, so he drove to the hardware store and looked over his options. Dealing with a dead mouse didn't sound pleasant, so he purchased a non-lethal trap. If it didn't work, he could always come back for something more effective.
He baited the trap with peanut butter and left it in the greenhouse. The next day, a furry little thing was scrabbling inside of it. He had read that mice will return to their homes if they can, so he took the trap for a long drive past the Mill.
It was night-time, but the full moon provided plenty of light. "There you go," he said quietly as he opened the trap. The mouse darted out, its path a frantic zigzag across the ground.
Out of nowhere, an owl swooped down and caught the mouse in its talons. Harold stared, speechless, as the owl flew off to a nearby tree, presumably to devour its prey.
Harold looked at the open trap in his hand, then shakily returned to his car and drove home.
***
Harold thought of Laura's friend Donna as a sweet girl, so he was surprised when she grabbed his prized possession, Laura's secret diary, off his table. "C'mon, it's a beautiful day. Let's read it on the lawn," she cajoled, dancing towards the front door, just out of his grasp.
"No," he begged. "Please, give it back to me. I can read it to you in here." It was all he had left of Laura. Her words were so dark, so poignant. He could share them with Donna but they didn't belong out there. It felt all wrong.
She stood just outside, tempting him with the diary. Fear of losing Laura out-weighed his agoraphobia and, for the first time in years, he stepped outside. His hands grabbed hold of the diary and for a brief instant, he felt relieved.
Then panic overtook him. He shook, he stumbled, and soon he was curled upon the ground, his heart pounding through his chest. He felt so exposed, so weak. Death was a giant owl ready to swoop in and crush him with its talons.
Of course, none of that happened. Donna fretted over him and helped him back inside, apologizing over and over again. She even wrapped him in a blanket and made him tea, just as he had done for her the previous night. Yet, despite calming down, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread in his bones.
He was no longer safe.