paint.
Somewhere down the road, maybe twenty yards, a car engine started and headlights came on. More glowing monster eyes.
Whoever it was, was in a hurry, sweeping quickly from the roadside to the road, and hitting thirty miles an hour by the time they came abreast of me.
I had to jump back. Either the driver didn't see me at all or saw me and wanted to hurt me. All I got was a glimpse of a new green Ford with a crumpled passenger fender.
Then the green Ford was one with night and fog; in moments, I couldn't even hear it let alone see it.
I followed the drive, spending the next ten minutes feeling not unlike a child in a nightmare, the realization slowly beginning to dawn that I had no idea where I was or where I was going. The Grimm Brothers would have loved this place. Any kind of creature from hell you could imagine might lurk in this dark, muggy night.
I was one with the fog now. It was so thick I couldn't even see my own body unless I made an effort.
An owl cried out; and then a dog. The dog sounded nearby.
And then in front of me, running at a frightened angle, a doe on sweet spindly legs rushed to the grass on the other side of the drive. Her eyes were trapped momentarily in the beam of my flashlight. I wanted to give her a reassuring hug but knew that would only scare her all the more. She ran on.
I don't know when the house started to take shape in the murk. It was gradual. First I saw the outlines of the roofs and gables, and then, closer, the square tower or campanile if you want to be technical, and finally, even closer, the shape of the balconies and bay windows. I knew enough about architecture to have a sense of what I was seeing: an Italianate-styled Victorian house.
The owl cried again.
The desolation became overwhelming suddenly and I was once again more child than adult. The fog lapped and swirled, and elongated once more into tatters, and then into sinuous shifting snakes. The moon was lost utterly now
I stepped forward and as I did so, put the flashlight in my left hand. I gave my right hand the responsibility of slipping my Ruger from its holster and making it snug and ready for use in my grip.
The dog barked again and I felt less alone.
Not until I was very close did I notice the charred areas on the stone exterior walls, and then the smashed-out windows.
I went up to one of the mullioned windows, tapped away to remove a shard of glass so it wouldn't cut my knuckles, and angled my flashlight inside.
The place had been gutted.
The walls were coal-black with char; the floor was heaped with debris; the elegant Victorian furniture had been disfigured by flames and smoke. There was no smell of burning, though. Whatever had happened here had happened long ago.
The fog had penetrated the house, too, twisting in and out of the rooms.
I had just pulled my light back when somebody hit me.
It wasn't a good, clean hit — he or she hadn't struck at the most vulnerable spot on the back of my head — but it was strong enough to do the job.
I heard shoe-leather squeak on the grass behind me.
I wanted to turn and see who'd done it, but—
I fought against going out but it was a useless fight. My body simply shut down. Vision first; and then hearing; and then warmth. A terrible chill shuddered through me. And I collapsed to the ground.
I wasn't out long, two or three minutes at most.
My flashlight had fallen a few feet away from me. The beam was still on. It shone in my face. The grass around the face of the flashlight was very green.
And then the dog trotted into the flashlight's beam, a very pretty Border collie, with something smudged red across her pretty face.
She was friendly.
She came over and started licking my nose and cheeks. Her tongue tickled and I laughed. Ridiculous to laugh in my position but it was funny. She smelled of wet fur and mud and the foggy night. She belonged to somebody. She was too well-kept to be a stray.
I started to sit up. The headache was massive, arcing
Somewhere down the road, maybe twenty yards, a car engine started and headlights came on. More glowing monster eyes.
Whoever it was, was in a hurry, sweeping quickly from the roadside to the road, and hitting thirty miles an hour by the time they came abreast of me.
I had to jump back. Either the driver didn't see me at all or saw me and wanted to hurt me. All I got was a glimpse of a new green Ford with a crumpled passenger fender.
Then the green Ford was one with night and fog; in moments, I couldn't even hear it let alone see it.
I followed the drive, spending the next ten minutes feeling not unlike a child in a nightmare, the realization slowly beginning to dawn that I had no idea where I was or where I was going. The Grimm Brothers would have loved this place. Any kind of creature from hell you could imagine might lurk in this dark, muggy night.
I was one with the fog now. It was so thick I couldn't even see my own body unless I made an effort.
An owl cried out; and then a dog. The dog sounded nearby.
And then in front of me, running at a frightened angle, a doe on sweet spindly legs rushed to the grass on the other side of the drive. Her eyes were trapped momentarily in the beam of my flashlight. I wanted to give her a reassuring hug but knew that would only scare her all the more. She ran on.
I don't know when the house started to take shape in the murk. It was gradual. First I saw the outlines of the roofs and gables, and then, closer, the square tower or campanile if you want to be technical, and finally, even closer, the shape of the balconies and bay windows. I knew enough about architecture to have a sense of what I was seeing: an Italianate-styled Victorian house.
The owl cried again.
The desolation became overwhelming suddenly and I was once again more child than adult. The fog lapped and swirled, and elongated once more into tatters, and then into sinuous shifting snakes. The moon was lost utterly now
I stepped forward and as I did so, put the flashlight in my left hand. I gave my right hand the responsibility of slipping my Ruger from its holster and making it snug and ready for use in my grip.
The dog barked again and I felt less alone.
Not until I was very close did I notice the charred areas on the stone exterior walls, and then the smashed-out windows.
I went up to one of the mullioned windows, tapped away to remove a shard of glass so it wouldn't cut my knuckles, and angled my flashlight inside.
The place had been gutted.
The walls were coal-black with char; the floor was heaped with debris; the elegant Victorian furniture had been disfigured by flames and smoke. There was no smell of burning, though. Whatever had happened here had happened long ago.
The fog had penetrated the house, too, twisting in and out of the rooms.
I had just pulled my light back when somebody hit me.
It wasn't a good, clean hit — he or she hadn't struck at the most vulnerable spot on the back of my head — but it was strong enough to do the job.
I heard shoe-leather squeak on the grass behind me.
I wanted to turn and see who'd done it, but—
I fought against going out but it was a useless fight. My body simply shut down. Vision first; and then hearing; and then warmth. A terrible chill shuddered through me. And I collapsed to the ground.
I wasn't out long, two or three minutes at most.
My flashlight had fallen a few feet away from me. The beam was still on. It shone in my face. The grass around the face of the flashlight was very green.
And then the dog trotted into the flashlight's beam, a very pretty Border collie, with something smudged red across her pretty face.
She was friendly.
She came over and started licking my nose and cheeks. Her tongue tickled and I laughed. Ridiculous to laugh in my position but it was funny. She smelled of wet fur and mud and the foggy night. She belonged to somebody. She was too well-kept to be a stray.
I started to sit up. The headache was massive, arcing
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