October 7, 2022. (Guest Submission by Noah Witt)

Spooktober story XX_xx_XX

“So, I just looked down there for the first time and let me just say, I am appalled.”

People snicker, and one speaks up, “I love it.”

Someone spits off of the balcony.

A stray cat on the skywalk below is startled and begins to lick itself.

The dullest bird from a nearby pigeon flock is struck in the head by a sticky raindrop.

Above, the neighborhood’s pigeon obsessive squawks with delight.

Below, the neighbors reel in their laundry and shut their windows in preparation for a drizzle of white shit.

“Look at those doves.”

“Beautiful. And look, we can almost see the sun.”

Barely-pattering smears appear on the sand, b(h)inkling with faint but pleasant sound. Binkle. Binkle.

“We’re gonna have to clean our laundry line. I’ll call the neighbors and let them know.”

*Ring Ring*

*Ring Ring*

Click.

…

… … …

“Hello? …”

A stray cat bats at the head of a stunned and spitcovered pigeon. The cat sniffs in. The pigeon barely flutters its wings frightening the cat into an anti-curious and overzealous backwards leap.

A neighbor below bemoans the shadow cast across their window.

“Oh, now what’s this?”

“…

…… … ……

… Beep - Beep - Beep - Beep - …”

The neighbors across the way aren’t answering their phone.

“Someone spit again.” says a neighbor above.

“You’ll spit, you did it before.”

“Nah, I can’t spit. Not anymore. That was stupid.”

The cat jumped too far, accidentally flinging itself from the skywalk and down to the laundrylines. Neighbors start to take notice.

“Well, I’m perfectly happy just going back inside. We should keep playing if nobody’s gonna spit.”

“I’ve got some coins.” says a neighbor above.

A couple of shabby, chipped coins almost glisten in the almost sunlight.

A neighbor far below notices a tug on their laundryline.

“Oh, oh whoa, hey hey come here!”

“No way!”

A screen door, luxurious and aerated as it could possibly be, closes behind a partyful of neighbors.

“Back to it then? Okay, cowards.”

A pigeon on the skywalk stands upright.

A neighbor reels back their laundryline in a hurry.

“They’d better unlock the damned gear! Or pick up the damned phone!”

A flock of pigeons are ill-met by brutal roostings beyond the neighbors above.

Someone relinquishes, “Okay I’ll fucking spit.”

A pigeon on the skywalk coos.

A neighbor below shrieks.

A flock of pigeons remakes itself whole.

Jon Phillips spits onto the stuck laundryline of a neighbor’s below.

A black cat lands predictably on its feet, way, all the way down on the sands below the belowest neighbors, cursing each neighbor it passed.