I’m a scaredy cat. I’m scared to walk out my front door into Le Petit Village at night. The same quaint and charming village which I love during the day, takes on a haunting quality in darkness. The only light comes from a few early 20th century lamps that hang high over the main street, casting an eerie glow through mist and highlighting the walls of the ancient village.
It’s empty and quiet and at times I think I can feel the past walking along.
The Boyfriend was arriving home late on pizza night. He phoned and asked if I would go to the van and order. What should have scared me was the prospect of using my amateur French on the pizza man, but nope it was the quiet darkness and shadows.
So I said no, I’d wait for him to get home. But after a few minutes of berating myself, I decided to cowboy up and get over it.
I changed my slippers for my converse, threw a scarf around my neck and stepped outside.
It took just one glimpse down the dark small street and my heart was thumping and my stomach was in my throat. I did a quick turnaround and was back inside with the front door firmly shut. Feeling like a chicken I sat down and vowed I’d do it next week.
I mean really, what’s the worst that could happen? I run into a ghost of a WWII German soldier that used to occupy Le Petit Village?
Please! I’m an American. He’d be more scared of me.