The Man Deirdre
Mr. Tomikins hated his first name. It was creepy. Crazy, perhaps, for an adult to think such a thing—especially a science teacher—but as he walked down the dark, deserted street, he felt the truth of it like a forty-pound weight in his gut. He'd felt it since childhood—an odd uneasiness every time someone called his name. A black pit in his belly, like rotting food that wouldn't digest.
"Mr. Tomikins!"
The sharp ring of the woman's voice slicing through the air startled him out of his thoughts. His breath froze somewhere inside his lungs, sticking to the surface, making him cough until he could breathe again. He looked up, relieved to see it was only Mrs. Brandon poking her frilly head out a high window, no doubt spying on her neighbors. Her hair was pulled into dozens of tight curlers, her face covered in a blush pink paste over the disgusting make-up.