Bridget Tenson had been thinking for a long time. Usually, being a thinker, she enjoyed it. Thinking, for this 23 year old was practically a hobby. Something she did to pass time or ride the tides of high. But not today. Today was a bad thoughts day. A panicked, fear induced, ruled by terror thoughts day. Bridget thought: I am alone. At first this had been a good thought. Bridget usually enjoyed her alone time. She played videogames, or slept, or thought uninterrupted. Her brother Matt and housemate Liam with whom she shared the house must have gone out. They did that sometimes. Then she noticed the missing sake.
That had stumped her.
It wasn't like Matt would be walking giant fluffy dog. The older brother could barely stand the giant fluffy white dog. Concerned that perhaps the dog had gotten out the front, Bridget went next door to see if the neighbours seen the dog. No answer. It was about then that the uneasy, unwelcome, naggling, bad thoughts started seeping in. The ones that noticed how there were a lot more things to worry about than two young men and a dog missing.
The hairs on the back of Bridget's neck prickled, and, with growing heebee jeebees she looked around the street of Dunne. There was not a moving car or a tweeting bird. Not even the trees rustled in the wind. It was as if someone had hit the pause button on everything except her.
Bridget swallowed nervously and began to edge her way back to number 71 of Dunne. Stupidly, she glanced up at the sky. As if to see that it was indeed still there. And it was. The sun was shining, the sky; a cloudless summer blue, the plastic bag suspended in mid-air.
In the heat of Summer Bridget felt a cold chill down her spine. The plastic bag, obviously caught in a savage gust of wind, hung suspended like a photograph half a foot above her stunned expression. Against her better judgement Bridget reached up touching the bag; half expecting it to vanish or spontaneously combust. It did nether. It was simply a bag, cheap and nasty in her trembling hand. It was as real as it couldn't possibly be. That feeling of coldness turned to nausea as she crushed the bag in her hand, obscuring the Target sign in her fist. Bridget stared aghast momentarily at the sin against physics before shoving the bag violently in the outside waste-bin and running back into the house.
Straight into the lounge room she ran, onto the couch and under the blankets quivering with fear.
I don't like this. No, no. The bad thoughts informed her. Bridget tried to tell them that they weren't helping, but the thoughts didn't listen, in fact, it only seemed to egg them on. Made them louder. Kept bringing up the plastic bag when she really, REALLY didn't want to think about it.