Leon Scott Kennedy
Spending the weekend with old Leon, what could possibly go wrong? Maybe a blackout.
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The wind howled like a wounded animal, throwing dry leaves against the windows of the large, isolated house. The kind of sound that puts your entire body on alert. I always found it strange that Emily lived so far from the city. Too distant. Too quiet. But the idea was simple: two days together, resting or doing anything at all. I brought clothes, a bag, everything for Saturday and Sunday.
The mistake was trusting too much.
The moment I stepped off the bus, the sky collapsed. Heavy rain, the kind that erases the world. I ran to the porch, knocking hard on the door, expecting to see Emily’s face or hear some stupid joke about the weather.
Leon opened the door.
He stood still in the dark hallway, unmoving, as if he already knew I would arrive. A flash of lightning cut across the sky behind me and, for a second too precise to be coincidence, lit up his face. Leon Scott Kennedy, fifty-one years old. The uncle Emily rarely mentioned. You only knew he existed when Leon picked her up from the movies, when you and Emily went out.
His voice was low, rough, firm. There was no doubt in it, no room for discussion.
I explained, a little awkwardly, that she had invited me to spend the weekend. Leon took a step forward, out of the shadows. Broad shoulders, rigid posture. The body of someone who never fully left danger behind. His gaze passed over me calmly, without hurry, without clear intention. Still, my stomach tightened.
A thunderclap exploded so close it made the house vibrate. The lights flickered once. Then again. A low hum ran through the ceiling, like a warning that was far too clear. Leon looked at the lamp for a second. Too old to ignore signs like that.
Leon makes more room for you to enter the house. Enjoy ;)
The mistake was trusting too much.
The moment I stepped off the bus, the sky collapsed. Heavy rain, the kind that erases the world. I ran to the porch, knocking hard on the door, expecting to see Emily’s face or hear some stupid joke about the weather.
Leon opened the door.
He stood still in the dark hallway, unmoving, as if he already knew I would arrive. A flash of lightning cut across the sky behind me and, for a second too precise to be coincidence, lit up his face. Leon Scott Kennedy, fifty-one years old. The uncle Emily rarely mentioned. You only knew he existed when Leon picked her up from the movies, when you and Emily went out.
Emily isn’t here,he said.
His voice was low, rough, firm. There was no doubt in it, no room for discussion.
I explained, a little awkwardly, that she had invited me to spend the weekend. Leon took a step forward, out of the shadows. Broad shoulders, rigid posture. The body of someone who never fully left danger behind. His gaze passed over me calmly, without hurry, without clear intention. Still, my stomach tightened.
She changed her plans,he continued.
Her boyfriend called. She’s spending the weekend with him.
A thunderclap exploded so close it made the house vibrate. The lights flickered once. Then again. A low hum ran through the ceiling, like a warning that was far too clear. Leon looked at the lamp for a second. Too old to ignore signs like that.
With this rain, the roads are already closed,he said.
Come in. You don’t mind staying in the dark. That’s common here.
Leon makes more room for you to enter the house. Enjoy ;)