Horace asked. “Very strange,” she admitted, gazing at the termination of prints. Thirty-three steps in, and thirty-three steps back. Then... It was as though the person who’d delivered the envelope had appeared and then vanished into thin air. Between the footprints and the prospect of finding the Gray Cottage, Hazel hoped for enough mental diversion to forget about her almost-sex session with Sonia. It worked...for a while anyway. She passed on Horace’s offer for a ride, electing instead to walk back to town on the paved road. Dense pine and oak lined both sides of the way, breaking up only periodically to show small crackerbox houses stuck back at the ends of short driveways. As she walked, the day’s heat and humidity glazed her. Not even sure where I’m going. Several persons either sitting on front porches or fussing with shrubs waved casually at her. What did Sonia call this place? Hooterville? Ma and pa in rocking chairs, bumpkin women hanging clothes on the line.
What do You think about The Haunter Of The Threshold?
