Chapter 24: Gunshots
I hear creaks in the windy night. A wolfish howl of sorts by a local canine echoes in the darkness. A window mysteriously slides open and closes somewhere in the bungalow. Footsteps cross ceramic tile in the kitchen. These are the sounds that alarm me after dark, drawing at my attention.
A natural instinct of fear surfaces and causes me to feel aware that someone is trespassing on the property and possibly breaking into the bungalow through the kitchen. Vibrations of haunting terror ski up and down my spine and cause goose pimples to form on my arms, stomach, and legs. This sudden alarm prompts me to place a queer paperback novel on a mahogany table in the study, and peruse the bungalow with full interest. As terror races through my nervous system, I investigate the
