Strange Magic by Gord Rollo Page B

the dirt-stained windowsedged with dark brown shutters. The roof was in a sad state of disrepair, its faded brown shingles buckled and worn, and the rusted rain gutters were hanging precariously, ready to fall at any moment. In short, the house looked exactly like the seedy place the Stranger had imagined Kemp would be hiding in.
    Piece of shit for a piece of shit…
    The excitement of being this close to his prey was overwhelming and almost caused the Stranger to act rashly. Thankfully, the antique trunk had spoken to him and soothed his raging desire. He’d wanted to rush into the house and slaughter Kemp without delay, but the calming voice in his head had convinced him it was wise to proceed with caution. What if he didn’t have the right house? The last thing he wanted to do was to create havoc in the wrong place and perhaps alert Kemp he was here.
    He’d watched the dilapidated house for well over two hours, trying unsuccessfully to detect any signs of life within. By 3:30 A.M. the street was void of movement and all the houses in this quiet neighborhood were cloaked in darkness. His frustration had grown exponentially with each passing minute until finally he couldn’t contain himself. Silently, he slid out of the truck and stealthily headed for the front door. He had a gut feeling no one was home but he had no intention of waiting till daylight to find out. Ringing the doorbell was a risk, but only a small one. If Kemp answered the door—fine, he would kill him. If someone else answered, he would simply walk away, leaving them confused and probably pissed off at being woken up, but none the wiser.
    As it turned out, no one answered his repeated ringing of the doorbell. Furious, the tall, dark Stranger returnedto his truck to ponder his next move. Eventually, he decided to drive over and check out the second listing. It only seemed to take a few minutes as he quietly nosed the truck onto Derby Hill Road and stopped near to a one-and-a-half-story Cape Cod-style dwelling. It was white, with a predominately large sloping green roof and matching shutters that neatly ordained the windows. A small, detached single-car garage sat off to the left at the end of a recently laid blacktopped driveway. It was a far nicer home in a much nicer neighborhood, but like the first, it too was deserted.
    For the remainder of the night, his frustration and anger continued to mount. He had set up a stakeout of sorts, driving back and forth between the two Kemp residences until daylight. To his dismay, no one returned to either house.
    By eight o’clock, too many people were walking and driving by for the Stranger to feel comfortable; sitting parked in the open might attract unwanted attention. He decided it would be best to stay on the move, occasionally driving by each house. It was now 10:46, and he was parked inconspicuously at a nearby convenience store, incensed at not being able to find his adversary.
    “Where the hell is he?” He struck the steering wheel in frustration again. “He couldn’t have vanished into thin air…or could he?”
    He stopped beating on the steering wheel long enough to ponder his dilemma. Was it possible Kemp had somehow found out he’d tracked him down and quietly left town? Had he really come this close, only to have the son of a bitch elude him once more?
    A dark cloud of rage and unbearable despair filtered through his warped, demented mind. If Kemp had reallyleft town, he might not be able to locate him again. It had taken more than a year to get this close.
    Again the magic trunk soothed his feverish mind. It was telling him Kemp was still in town and unaware of his impending doom. How stupid he had been. If Kemp had left town, the antique trunk would have sensed it. Having received the good news, he felt a great sense of relief. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and concentrated on nothing except the smooth voice of reason now permeating his agitated mind.
    The trunk of secrets explained