The door swung loosely on its hinges causing an odd disjointed mix of sounds which ranged from high whining screeches to low rusty sawing.  No way this could be the right address Henry thought pulling the crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket, but it was and he knew it.  The words were the same as the last ten times he had read them, not that he needed to read them any more.  Some things you can’t un-see and some words could haunt you forever.  Henry knew this note as unassuming as it was was one of those.  He pushed it back into his pocket and crossed the road, pausing to look both ways twice extending the time it would take to walk the short distance.  In the puddle which lay to the side of the point where the road met the broken walkway Henry glimpsed his reflection.  His eyes looked black not blue in the murky water and the trees stood like ominous shadows at his back.  Unconsciously his hand moved back to the wad of paper as his eyes raked the street.  The only sound was the door, but the air seemed heavy with something.  Perhaps a storm he thought trying to give reason to the chill he could not shake, as he rubbed the arm which ended with the note.  He sighed and shook his head.  Henry moved forward but only just, each step took ages as if it was filled with an infinite number of half step which would never lead to the final goal.  The sky was now on the dark side of dusk where every thing looks like it was dipped in ink, blackened and runny, but the crumbling concrete stairs which were so much lighter in color than everything else they appeared to emit their own self contained light.  The dilapidated porch sagged and groaned as Henry gained his footing.  Reaching out to stop the sway of the door he sees the tremble running down his arm.  Again Henry digs out the note holding it above him as if trying to catch enough light to read it, but when he should have lifted his head to look instead he opens his hand.  Wind from nowhere picks up and the door slams open with a crack.  His head pops up a single tear glistening on his cheek, Henry walks forward as he barely nods his head never once glancing back.  The only sound is the soft plunk of the note hitting the puddle.  The ink smears as the water swallows its prize…your time is all she reads as she walks past the pot of boiling water towards the ringing phone, she shakes her head and thinks just wait till I tell Hank the pasta’s sending me messages.

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