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the back lot of the "Beverly Hillbillies." The porch tilted at an impossible angle. The roof had caved in on one side. The windows gaped black and empty. |
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D.J. stepped onto the porch, and one boot broke through the rotted wood. Chris caught her arm as she teetered backward. Yanking her foot clear with a curse, D.J. continued to mutter under her breath as she picked her way to the door. Chris followed with equal care. |
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The entire area held a surrealistic airif Chris hadn't known better, he would have thought he'd stepped into a Stephen King film. Maybe Pet Semetery, when the poor, beleaguered hero finds the cursed pet burial ground. Any minute now Chris expected to see a cat zombie appear in the window. |
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The door swung open without a creak. Chris frowned. So did D.J. |
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"Who?" Chris said, hoping she didn't mean her ex-husband. |
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"Ed. My father." She shook her head. "I didn't think he'd ever come back here. The place reminds him too much of her. But someone oiled this door." She stepped inside and fumbled around. After several curses a match flared, and a soft, wavering light crept out the doorway, silhouetting D.J. just inside, holding a lantern. She held it up higher and looked around the one-room cabin. Chris stepped up behind her and peered over her shoulder. "And someone cleaned this place up." |
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"I'll say." The inside looked as neat as the outside didn't: the fireplace stocked with wood, the bed made up with quilts, everything dusted and |
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