No laughter.
Which was why what happened the following Tuesday made absolutely no sense.
Trash collection came shortly after seven that morning. Around ten, I walked down my driveway to bring my empty bin back beside the garage.
I grabbed the handle.
It barely moved.
I frowned.
The truck had emptied it hours earlier.
Thinking something must have fallen inside afterward, I tilted the bin toward myself.
Something shifted.
Then I heard a tiny sound.
A sniffle.
I stopped moving.
“Hello?”
Silence.
For one ridiculous second, I wondered whether a raccoon had climbed inside.
Then something moved again.
I slowly lifted the lid.
My breath caught.
Two little girls were crouched at the bottom.
They looked almost identical.
Dark curls. Round cheeks. Huge brown eyes.
They couldn’t have been older than three.
One was wearing a pale green shirt and leggings with tiny stars. The other had on a purple T-shirt and only one sock.
Their bare knees were dirty.
One girl’s cheek was streaked with tears.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I lowered myself beside the bin.
“What are you doing in there?”
Neither answered.
I tried smiling.
“If you’re playing hide-and-seek, you’ve definitely found a good spot, but this isn’t very safe. Let’s get you out.”
The girl in green shook her head.
“We’re not playing.”
Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it.
“We’re hiding.”
My smile disappeared.
“From who?”
The twins looked toward the house next door.
Then the girl wearing purple whispered, “Please don’t tell him we’re here.”
Something cold moved through my stomach.
I glanced at the neighboring house.
Every curtain was closed.
