Far out among the lofty sighing pines and by a snaking asphalt road, a white house is hidden in a small sloping dell. The soft sighing of the trees, the dropping of dried pine needles, and the periodic rumble of the passing cars are all that can be heard. A chilling whisper of wind whisks through the air.
The dying sun, partly concealed behind a cluster of trees, splays the sided house with a final splash of light. The open shutters let loose a torrent of electric light that shines through the windows on both floors. Chickens peck about on the porch and two yawning dogs sprawl out in the bushes about the house. A single spider spins her web betwixt a pair of the wooden pillars. Meandering steppingstones guide the way to the moldy brick staircase leading up to the stately oak door. The glowing doorbell is smooth and cold. DING-DONG! Within the house, there is a cry of; “They’re here!”
"The only thing that anybody really knows about this author is that he is a real nutcase."
-Anonymous reporter
Well...