“Mr. Rogers,” she began, voice trembling, “I think there’s something by your fence. It’s been there all day, and it doesn’t look good.” Although he was tired and dreading the storm, Allan thanked her quickly as he prepared to head outside to inspect the anomaly.
Allan Rogers had lived in the same house for nearly forty years, long enough to know every creak in the wooden floors and every draft that slipped through the aging window panes. The winters in Berkshire had always been harsh, but they felt even colder now that he lived alone.