The tin lid peeled back with a sharp snap. Cal tapped the can of cat food against the plastic bowl and set it down on the hardwood.

At the door, he patted his pockets for his wallet and keys.

Walter sat on the doormat, orange tail flicking in quick, agitated bursts.

“Not yet, bud. Gotta get you chipped first. Can’t have you getting lost out here,” Cal said, scooping him up. “At least this place’s bigger than the old apartment.” He planted Walter on the side table and slipped out before the cat could spring after him.

Hayden Grove laid between two mountain ranges, tucked away like a secret shoved beneath a mattress. The evening air hung heavy and warm. The last shred of daylight bled thin across a darkening sky.

His house sat among a neat row along a cul-de-sac; the street was silent except for the small cluster of men in his driveway.

“Cal!” Paddy waved him over. “We’re gonna do a walk-through before the meeting. Figure you could join us. Good chance to meet the Watch.”

Five men stood waiting, dressed in dark pants and black crewnecks stamped with the town’s crest: a circled oak tree with sunrays flaring behind it. They weren’t built like athletes, but they weren’t soft either. Suburban husbands, late thirties to mid-forties, average height, average build.

Cal shook hands down the line. They were like him. Average, unremarkable. Forgettable faces.

“Alright, fellas. You know your routes. Cal and I’ll take this block to start,” Paddy said, and the others peeled away.

Paddy was the oldest. His coarse hair cropped close to his scalp, faint wrinkles tugging at his mouth and eyes, hinting he was closing in on fifty.

“We gotta keep the streets safe, ya know. Never know who’s creeping around,” he said.

Paddy smoothed his hands down his crisp uniform. “Clean, tight look. It’s important for aesthetics. You found us through a brochure, right?”

“Yeah. Realtor gave me a few. Seemed…decent.”

“It’s peaceful. Not like the city.” Paddy threw him a glance. “What do you do again?”

“I’m with the city.”

“Pays alright?”

“If I budget it. Lived with my grandma for a while. Saved up,” said Cal, lowering his head slightly before adding, “When she passed…she left me a little something.”

“That’s lucky,” Paddy said.

Cal shot him a look. Before anything else could pass between them, an old woman burst from a front-door. Her pink slippers slapped the concrete. She pointed at Cal like he was a cockroach.

“That’s him! That’s the Peeping Tom!” she screeched.

Cal froze, hands raised, instinctively defensive.

“Mrs. Raines, how ya doin’?” Paddy said smoothly, like he was greeting a neighbor and not containing a scene.

The old woman ranted on. Paddy leaned closer to Cal. “Dementia,” he said low.

Cal nodded, exhaling slow.

While Paddy smoothed things over, Cal spotted a boy on the porch, flicking pearl-like pebbles at a slumped hound. Cal drifted closer. The boy, maybe six, had snot glistening under his nose. His eyes fixated on his little cruel game.

“Don’t do that,” Cal said, firm, reaching for the boy’s hand.

The hound lifted its head releasing a low, rumbled growl. Cal straightened fast, stepping back. The dog’s head dropped again like it was too heavy to hold.

Back at Paddy’s side, Cal watched the boy flick pebbles at the old dog.

“Alright, Mrs. Raines, I’ll bring it up at the meeting,” Paddy said, finally steering them away.

“Old bird’s cracked,” Paddy muttered once they were clear. “Up ahead there’s a path cuts around back and loops to the road. I’ll take it. You keep on straight. We’ll meet at the end, yeah?”

“Sure,” Cal said, voice low, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

The neighborhood was endless asphalt and manicured lawns. No sidewalks, nowhere to walk but the gutter’s edge. Every house the same: tall, white, dark trim, neat as teeth.

At the end of the block, he waited. Minutes ticked by. No sign of Paddy.

Finally, he gave up and cut down the narrow path that snaked behind the houses.

He expected Paddy. Instead, he found a sun-bleached pool. A girl lounged at the edge, red bikini bright against the dimming sky. Skin gleamed under the last scraps of light. She was old enough to steal a glance, young enough to make him second-guess it.

She slid off her sunglasses, tossing him a slow, coy smile. A lollipop stem between her lips. She sauntered over to the waist-high fence, one hand trailing the wood. She arched her back so her chest popped forward.

“You must be the new guy,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet, lips working the lollipop with a wet pop.

Cal introduced himself, trying not to stare at the bikini barely clinging to her breasts.

“J.J.,” she said.

“You live here with your…husband?” he asked, distracted by the glossy red of her mouth.

“The parentals,” she said, tapping the lollipop against her tongue. “Dorms are dead for spring break.”

A knot in his chest loosened a little.

“Heard about ya. Of course you gotta sift through the suburbia bullshit.” She tugged at the knot of her bikini bottom like she might undo it.

Cal nodded, throat dry. “I should get back to patrol.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come inside?” she asked.

He threw her a look.

She smiled. “Brought daddy a cherry pie from the city. Still got some left.”

“I should really get back.”

Even as he walked away, he could still feel her eyes on his back.

As he strolled to the next house, he barely noticed the path lights flicker on. His attention snagged on the chaos spilling across the yard. At first glance, it looked like a nudist party, but the scene twisted darker. A man knelt naked in the grass, surrounded by laughing bodies who took turns spitting on him.

“Howdy!” called a man in his fifties, waving cheerily, stepping away from the crowd.

“You must be Cal! Paddy’s told us about you!” His shaved, wrinkled testicles swung freely in the open air.

Cal stood frozen, staring at the surreal scene. Naked bodies, mostly older, milling around a man, degrading him while sipping beers and champagne like it was any other Sunday.

“My wife, Trish, and I host this little gathering every weekend,” the man said, as a woman with silver-streaked hair and bare breasts sidled up beside him.

“So nice to finally meet you,” she said. “Everyone, this is the new neighbor, Cal!” Trish called out.

The crowd raised their drinks in a lazy cheer. Breasts, bellies, penises, and pubic hair bobbing as they turned to him.

The man on his knees gave a wave as a woman hawked a loogie onto his cheek.

Cal was mute, his brain scrambling to keep up. He mumbled something about getting back to the Watch, already backing away, desperate to leave but too polite to sprint.

“What the fuck?” he said quietly.

He was still reeling from the scene when he spotted a man standing outside a nearby window. It was dark, but he could see by the light from the window: a white guy, mid-forties, trousers down at his ankles, openly jerking off.

“Hey!” Cal barked, vaulting the fence.

The man hastily yanked his pants up. “It’s alright,” he muttered, defensive.

“The hell it is,” Cal said, grabbing him by the arm.

They scuffled for a moment, harsh words slipping between gritted teeth, until a window slid open. Paddy’s head popped out. His bare, hairy chest and arms gave Cal a jolt.

“It’s cool,” Paddy said, voice casual, like they were talking about the weather. “That’s Roger, and that’s his wife, Veronica.”

Inside, a middle-aged woman with long brunette hair wearing a black leather corset that pushed up her breasts. She leaned against Paddy, fingers stroking his bare back.

“So you’re the new addition,” she said.

Cal stared between them all, throat tight.

“Roger likes to watch,” said Paddy, casually.

Roger, pants now fastened, stood rigid, arms crossed, glaring like Cal was the one intruding.

“Let me finish up here. Why don’t you head up to the meeting?” Paddy said. “Unless you wanna give her a go,” he added, pointing a thumb at Veronica, as if offering him a spin in a used car.

Cal didn’t answer. He turned and left, skin crawling.

By the time he reached the clubhouse, night had sunk in, the streetlights thrusting weak fists at the dark. Cal shook his head and muttered under his breath as he stepped inside, “This sure as hell wasn’t in the brochure.”

Inside, metal folding chairs lined up facing the long windows of the clubhouse where a podium also stood. To the side was a table with a plastic cloth, napkins, and plates strewn about.

The rest of the Watch were already standing at attention like soldiers. Took several minutes as each shared their verbal reports of broken sprinklers, busted garage doors.

When they asked what he saw, Cal just stuttered and shrugged. “Uh. Nothing really.”

A hand slapped Cal’s back. “Fellas, how was the patrol?” said a cheerful, familiar voice.

“Evening, Mr. Wilson,” said one of the watchmen.

Mr. Wilson was the nudist. His wife, Trish, scurried to the table, carrying a potato salad dish. Their guests followed. All of them, mercifully clothed.

“You should join the party next time,” Mr. Wilson said to Cal. “Although, can’t have too many distractions from the Watch. You never know what weirdos are out there.”

He laughed, and Cal forced a smile.

Before he could slip away, Paddy strolled up with an arm around J.J.’s shoulders. She wore jeans and a white cropped shirt. Her red bikini still flashing underneath.

“Cal, want you to meet my princess,” he said.

“We met,” J.J. said, pouting. “I offered him some of my pie, but he said no.”

“Cal’s just shy,” Paddy said. “You oughta try it next time. Tastes just like her mother’s.”

Cal’s breath caught in his throat. Paddy couldn’t have meant what he thought. But then Wilson gave him a nudge.

“Best pie you’ll ever taste,” he said with a wink.

Cal excused himself. “I. Uh. Think I need some water,” he muttered.

The table was loaded with strawberries tarts, peach cobblers, chocolate brownies, pastas, and casseroles. Veronica appeared beside him, holding a plate.

“Here,” she said, smiling too wide. “My homemade casserole. Special recipe. Chicken potatoes with a fig sauce. Absolutely delicious.”

He reluctantly accepted it, then spotted Roger sitting stiffly in a folding chair, glaring at him over a paper plate. Roger forked some casserole into his mouth while throwing a mean glare at Cal.

“Don’t mind Roger,” Veronica said, brushing his arm. “He’s not good with strangers. But he said he likes you. He’s not normally into men, but he thinks you’re strong.”

Her hand stroked him, but not like one might touch an arm. Rather a different part of him. It was only now that he noticed the entire room. Smiling. Watching.

Cal looked down at the mash of chicken potatoes drenched in some creamy sauce he hoped was the fig.

“I forgot,” he said quickly to Veronica. “I need to feed my cat.”

He slipped out before the meeting started, heart thudding in his chest.

Back at home, it was pitch black outside.

He held the plate of casserole in his hand. He stepped on the bin. It clanked open, and he dumped the casserole straight into the trash.

Walter meowed at the sliding door leading to the yard.

“No,” Cal said, his voice rough. “You’re an indoor cat now.”