93491_RAA_TPFFT_R1_PROOF

a recollection by carl webster.

It’s Friday night, around midnight.

Though it is May, the air is chilly and getting colder as I pull up to the address emailed to me.

A mysterious person needs my help, but she can communicate with me only (ever) after sunset--

--as is the case with these sorts of encounters.

I can see a decaying house outline against a night -

-no-

- ominous sky.

Laboring onward to the entrance of a dingy, overgrown yard – the surrounding bushes clearly not tended to in years, I feel my chest tighten.