Prior Bad Acts [antikvár]

Drolo^eHE KNEW BEFORE he entered the house that day that something was very wrong. It was July. The sky pressed down like an anvil ominous, dark, gray. The afternoon was over, evening not yet begun. Time had ceased to mean anything.The air was still, as if the day were holding its breath in anticipation of what would come. Dead calm. Lightning ripped across the western sky. Thunder rumbled, a distant drumroll.In his memory there were never other houses around the foursquare clapboard house with the peeling green paint and the porch that bowed midway across the front of the building like a weary smile. Everything else receded, slipped into the trees, dropped over the horizon. He saw the house, the yardturned weedy and straw colored by the lack of rain. He saw the trees back by the train tracks, leaves turned inside out.No one was around. No cars on the street behind him. No kids ripping up and down on their bikes. There were no dogs, there were no birds, there were no squirrels or rabbits. There was no sound but the thunder, drawing ever closer.In his memory, he didn't draw near the house. The house advanced on him.Bang!His heart stopped. His head snapped to the left."You better get in the basement! Tornado's coming!"