The boy next door

There was something not quite right about Thomas Stokes – reflected 12-year-old Victoria – which was rather odd in itself really, because by all appearances he seemed to be a very average sort of boy, but  it was only after you’d been looking at him, really seeing him, that you’d begin to notice little things that were just off, like the way the features on either side of his face didn’t quite seem to line up, or the way his flat blue eyes would always appear to be looking about a quarter inch to the right of whomever he was speaking to, or the way all the dogs and cats on the neighborhood avoided him – for animals are perceptive – yet these indications were so subtle, so barely discernible that you could almost think that you were imagining things; it was for this reason – this sense of off-putting-ness – that you felt compelled always to address him using his formal name “Thomas” and never the more familiar “Tom” (“Tommy” of course being completely out of the question). 

The End

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