The scent of ripe Honeycrisp apples breezes down the center of Main Street...
The only light shining on the four-way stop outside of town came from a thumbnail moon and the swaying red glow of a solitary traffic signal. I finished the summoning ritual from the book I'd found in the second-hand shop, and an old busted Corolla ground to a halt in the middle of the intersection. I took a step back, clutching my guitar case.
When the night had grown long in the tooth, and the starless sky turned dark enough to swallow the streetlights and traffic signals, every bar and tavern in downtown Bridgewater swung their doors wide, sloshing last-call patrons homeward.
When the house goes dark, Penny lies awake making monsters out of shadows, wondering at the creaks and groans moving ever closer down the hallway's floorboards.
At dawn I pull the last batch of donuts from their bath in the deep fryer, and rack them to cool. My shop, Tasty Donut, opens its doors in thirty minutes and I'm lagging behind. Three straight days running on no sleep will have that effect. Surprised I've been full steam ahead as long as I have.
The lantern's white-yellow light proffers a soft circle, a small illumination bubble to hold back the miles of darkness overhead. You count off the last fifty paces in this corridor, and stop. When you bring the lantern close to the cave floor, you find the same symbol you'd seen in the last three rooms--an eye floating above three wavy lines. Your heart sprints and your belly turns inside out.
A block from the bright neon sanctuary of a well-traveled gas station, we lost the tread on our left rear tire
Cal Sims watches the shambling man stumble out of the pancake butter sunset for the better part of a half hour. He'd just been a blurry horizon speck at first, but at the twenty minute mark began to materialize.
Tommy dipped his map into the coffee water bath he'd prepared that morning, and let it soak for a few minutes. While he waited, he whistled a worn out melody from the summer of ‘88, a ghost of a song he couldn't quite remember the name of. Funny. He and his friends had listened to it constantly that year, and it would seem that at least the name of the band might have rung a bell or two. He wrote a mental reminder to ask Connie when she finally bothered to show up.