Page 3 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Polly’s body was stiff, poised at the window of the darkened house like a soldier at attention.
“Polly?” Effie became more insistent as she saw Polly begin to sway. Her sister’s knees gave way, and she slumped to the porch with a thud that maximized every nighttime echo and bounced off the gravestones in the cemetery behind them.
Effie launched forward to help her younger sister but stopped short as Polly hauled herself up and with a disoriented wobble hurtled down the steps toward Effie. Horror rippled across every shadow and crevice on Polly’s face. Her skin turned white as though someone had drained the blood from her insides until what remained was the shell of a woman who had seen the worst of evils.
“Let’s go,” Effie urged, gripping Polly’s arm.
Unresponsive, Polly stared at the graves and their stones lit by the moon and by the premonition that one day, a stone would be all that remained of any of them.
“We’ll go get help.” Effie tugged on Polly.
“Help,” Polly muttered.
Effie nodded in affirmation, urging Polly to follow by yanking on her clammy hand. Her mind was already compiling scenes of terror inside 322 Predicament Avenue. Inside would be found the lifeless body of a woman whose screams they were the lastto hear. Her killer would have fled, leaving behind footprints in a puddle of blood. Perhaps a clue on the kitchen table. A sudden cold realization curdled within Effie: Polly hadseenwhat had happened!
Polly stumbled to a halt, and the movement jolted Effie backward as Polly held her fingers in a viselike grip.
“What is it?” Effie gasped, looking at her sister with both dread and resentment that they were here in this very moment.
Polly’s eyes were wide. Her hand trembled on Effie’s arm. “Do you hear it?”
“Hear what?” Effie replied.
“Silence,” Polly breathed. “There’s nothing. Just ... silence.”
The horror on Polly’s face must have mirrored her own.
They had heard the last sounds of a life being stolen from this earth. Was this what death sounded like once it had visited?
Death seemed far too victorious in its silence.
2
NORAHRICHMAN
Present Day
Shepherd, Iowa
ASCREAMTHATRIVALEDevery horror movie’s soundtrack sliced through the night, piercing every crack and uninsulated crevice of 322 Predicament Avenue.
Norah bolted upright in bed, the sheets damp from her restless dream-filled sleep. Her T-shirt stuck to her chest and strands of hair to her cheek.
She’d dreamed the horrible scream. Those screams visited her many nights, riddled with the echoes of her sister’s voice.
Another scream shattered the now very real stillness, dispelling the idea that she was dreaming.
Norah scrambled from her bed, ignoring the way the slanted wood floor beneath her feet groaned and creaked. Those werethe familiar sounds. The omens of an old house with many memories lost to time that tried to escape every day.
She snatched a hoodie from a nearby chair and tugged it on over her sweaty T-shirt. Flinging her door open, Norah looked both ways down the hall. She boasted occupancy in the back bedroom, which had always been Aunt Eleanor’s bedroom when Norah was a kid. Now it was hers. Hers and this godforsaken house that meant her past would never stop nipping at her heels, and that people—humanity—would always be mere steps away.
That was what she got for inheriting Aunt Eleanor’s old farmhouse on Predicament Avenue and for not being able to shake off everything she owed to her dead sister. A bed-and-breakfast had been Naomi’s dream, not hers.
The recurring screams were shape-shifting into a mix of hysterical sobs and wails. Norah ignored the anxiety crawling up her throat, creating an instant quiver in her hands. She recognized the screams. She understood them all too well.
They were the screams of death.
Her bare feet took the wooden stairs to the second floor that consisted of four bedrooms in the perfectly square house. She flicked a light switch, and the futile comfort of LED bulbs flooded the darkness.
