Solitude by Michael Penning

Author:Michael Penning [Penning, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

SAM’S TRUCK RUMBLED over the overgrown lane. Trees crowded the ditches on either side. Their creeping limbs threw heavy shadows across the withered weeds sprouting between the muddy wheel ruts.

Sam wondered just how far back into the woods the Singer residence sat from the turnoff. He’d been on this bumpy, twisting lane for at least a quarter of a mile now. He felt like it was leading him deep into the heart of the mountains when, at last, the trees opened up ahead of him.

The farmhouse at the end of the lane had to be at least a century old and looked like a wreck of its former self. It was a Folk Victorian with a gable roof and brick chimneys on each end. Dingy white paint flaked and peeled in curls from the weatherbeaten siding. Three windows faced Sam from the second floor. They were covered in drab curtains and there were no lights on in the rooms beyond. The front porch slumped away from the house and brown vines snaked around the railing’s balustrades. Parts of the rail had rotted away, the pieces still visible where they had fallen into the weed-choked flower beds surrounding the house’s foundation. The porch’s rickety columns leaned like they would collapse under the weight of the roof at any moment.

Dense forest encroached on the property on all sides. An unkept field of waist-high grass grew between the house and the trees. The tall grass was yellow now, and it swayed in the lonesome breeze whistling across the dreary homestead. Further back on the lot, a large barn had been converted into a two-door garage. From the look of its crooked angles and the holes in its tin roof, it was just as in need of repair as the house.

Sam felt a creeping sense of foreboding as he mounted the uneven porch steps. The warped planks were soft and rotting beneath his feet. He crossed to the front door and rang the bell, glancing around uneasily while he waited. There wasn’t a neighboring house for at least a mile in either direction.

Sam wondered if he should have waited for Megan to join him after all, or brought one of his deputies along. Margaret Singer had no police record, and there was no reason to believe she might be violent. But out here in the middle of nowhere, anything could happen to him and no one would know.

When there was no response, Sam pulled on the flimsy screen door and rapped his knuckles on the heavy wood.

Still nothing.

Sam hesitated a moment longer before moving to the nearest window. He cupped his face with both hands against the dirty glass, and peeked through a hole in a plaid curtain. The fabric was so thin it was nearly translucent. Sam still couldn’t make out anything in the gloom, but a nagging intuition told him the house wasn’t empty. Someone was inside.

Sam left the porch and rounded the house toward the big barn. His attentive gaze roved his forlorn surroundings, scanning for potential threats.

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