Dark Corner Read Free

and had been constructed by a team
of men that included David's great-grandfather. The place
looked as though it had been kept in good repair. It had a
screened-in porch, a two-car garage, and a tool shed, too.
    The lawn, however, badly needed to be mowed. Earvin
had said that he'd hired someone to cut the grass, but that
was a few weeks ago. The property had been undisturbed
since his father's death. The lawyer had paid the utility bills,
in the meantime, and promised David that he only needed to
bring his belongings, and move right in. "There's no telling
what you might find in there," Earvin had said. "Your father
lived the last few months of his life in that house, may his
soul rest in peace."
    That's perfect, David had thought. Maybe I can figure out
what Dad was doing before the accident....
    King clawed the glass, jarring David out of his reverie.
    "All right, boy, we're getting out" David cut the engine.
"We're here"
    King looked at him as if to say, It's about time, man.
You've kept me cooped up in this thing forever. Let me outta
here!
    David opened his door, and King, normally patient, didn't
wait for David to walk around and open the passenger door.
The dog scrambled over the seats and leaped outside. He
roved across the yard, sniffing.
    "Don't run off," David said. He raised his arms and
stretched.
    At a brick home across the street, a grandmotherly woman
tended a bed of flowers. She waved at him. He returned the
greeting.

    He could get used to having friendly neighbors. At his
town house community in Atlanta, he and his neighbors had
rarely spoken to one another.
    He had a lot of unloading and unpacking to do, but he'd
take care of it later.
    The screen door was unlocked, and opened silently.
    Thick waves of humid air churned in the porch. Three
lawn chairs stood inside, ranked beside one another. A copy
of the Chester County Ledger lay on an end table, beside a
glass ashtray filled with a cigar butt. His father had loved
cigars.
    David picked up the newspaper. It was dated March 9th.
Two days before his father had vanished.
    A chill zapped through him, like an electric shock. He
dropped the paper.
    There was something eerie about touching an item that
had been last handled by a dead man. But he would have to
get used to it, if he was going to live in this house.
    King bolted inside the porch. Tongue wagging, the dog
bumped against David, eager to go inside.
    David opened the door.
    The first thing that struck David was the smell: a stale
odor hung within, as though the house had been sealed for
years and not only for a few months. He found the thermostat in the entry hall, and switched on the fan. He'd open
windows, too, as he encountered them, then turn on the airconditioner later.
    King set off down the hallway, sniffing eagerly.
    As he stood in the foyer, David had the distinct feeling
that he had walked into a dream. Like a place in a dream, the
house felt familiar, yet foreign. The last time he had visited,
he was fourteen. He'd spent two weeks there during the summer, entertained by his two cousins (whose names escaped
him) and, less often, by his father. He'd left convinced that it was the most boring place in the world-they had none of
the cool stuff they had in Atlanta-and vowing that he'd
never visit again, no matter how badly he wanted to spend
time with his dad.

    Funny how time could change a person's mind.
    A staircase twisted up to the second floor. Four doorways
were in the first-floor hall. David slowly walked past each
room. The living room was the first room he passed, a spacious area full of overstuffed furniture, a grandfather clock,
framed family photos, a television, a fireplace, and a rocking
chair. Next was the dining room: a large oak table stood in
the center, circled by matching oak chairs. On his right, a
bathroom. A familiar slurping sound came from within.
    "King!" He opened the door. The dog had its snout in the
toilet, lapping up