|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Harris. The aforementioned Miss Harris, Angie informed us, was no longer a resident in the area and had left no forwarding address. The widow Austin, however, had stayed on, and Angie gave us instructions on how to get to her place. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Despite the fog, we found it. The surprise was that the old lady's house was just down the road and up the hill from the very spot where Percy Kramer had made his ill-fated pass at B.C. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The ramshackle old house was in an advanced stage of decay. It was shuttered (all broken) and badly in need of paint. The front porch sagged, and if ever a house could be described as lonely, this one qualified. There wasn't another structure visible in any direction. I looked over at B.C. She was apprehensive about the whole thing, and it had begun to showwrinkles of concern, my mother used to call them. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Ready?" I grinned. "Research is the fun part of writing, meeting new people in new places and learning new things." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I trudged up the hill with B.C. close behind. It took several solid raps before the door was grudgingly opened a scant four inches. A squinty, dull brown eye peered around and out at me and a twisted, uneven whisper masquerading as a voice asked, "What'cha want?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I stepped back out of the long shadows so that the old woman could see my face. |
|
|
|
|
|