mind had cleared again, she understood this was true.
Which was why, when she spotted the lengthy, whitish shape writhing on the roof of the building up ahead, the image shocked her to the core.
But then the thing was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared, like a wedge of moonlight scraped from the roof by some fleeting cosmic hand.
Nevertheless, while advancing toward the property’s driveway more urgently now, Meg heard unpleasant noises, as if something had forced entry and not in a conventional manner. Even the sight of her husband’s company car parked in front of the cottage—Meg had known it would be there—did little to upset her perception of a maniac being unwilling to relent, tearing aside slate and wood, brick and plaster…Then she was right up close to the building, her fingers clenched tightly in sticky palms, each greased despite the chill of night.
She was now ready to confront more truths than she felt she could willingly assimilate.
10
The front door was locked. This was Meg’s first realization. She hadn’t wasted time holding back to consider the implications of her actions or lapse into any other behavior that befitted a middle-England woman who’d been brought up well by honorable parents and had worked in an ostensibly respectable job. Instead, she’d simply advanced on the cottage, ignoring more crunching sounds from inside, and, after thumping firmly at the door and receiving no answer, tried turning the cold metal handle.
It had refused to budge. Amanda had clearly let her lover inside and closed out any potential interference. Did the woman want to talk to Harry, letting him know her true feelings and maybe even giving him an ultimatum? Why else would she have traveled so far to the coast? Their relationship must be serious, with Amanda wondering why the man she loved refused to leave his wife. And had she figured out the reason the previous evening? Had she perceived the heartbreak in Meg, lurking behind a cheerful façade? For a brief period after the tragic event, Meg hadn’t wanted sex and had been unaffectionate with her husband, while also letting the house go to seed. But she’d had a good excuse, hadn’t she? Of course she had . None of this negligence, which had lasted only weeks, justified her husband going off with another woman. Meg had lost her baby, for Christ’s sake. Her baby .
“Harry!” she screamed, battering knotlike fists against the door again until the flesh ran red. “Harry, come out of there, you coward! You dishonest bastard! You…you heartless fucker!”
There was no reply, the cottage remaining in silence, but…was that actually true? Once all the breath had escaped Meg, causing her to gasp in the cool air, she thought she heard a noise from inside, though one that sounded anything but of human origin.
It was like a heavy mobilization of moist flesh. Meg imagined some vast species of sea life prizing through a gap too narrow to accommodate its bulk. It was fortunate the thing had so many insectlike limbs to propel its relentless motion, gripping door frames with many borrowed fingers and seeking its quarry with inherited intelligence.
Then Meg paced backward, certain the figure beyond the door—a bulky, glutinous figure that crackled with subdued electricity, like sparks flying from water-doused gadgets—had been moving to the right…toward the rear of the building, where the bedroom would be located, presently occupied by two furtive paramours.
Roof tiles were scattered to and fro on the flagged path leading around the back. No regulated property owner would have left the cottage in such a shabby state of disrepair, and so Meg must assume the damage had been caused since its current tenant’s arrival: today.
“No, this night,” she said aloud, encouraging herself to reach the window she desired by remaining in touch with reality. Too often recently she’d lapsed into delusional speculation,
Which was why, when she spotted the lengthy, whitish shape writhing on the roof of the building up ahead, the image shocked her to the core.
But then the thing was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared, like a wedge of moonlight scraped from the roof by some fleeting cosmic hand.
Nevertheless, while advancing toward the property’s driveway more urgently now, Meg heard unpleasant noises, as if something had forced entry and not in a conventional manner. Even the sight of her husband’s company car parked in front of the cottage—Meg had known it would be there—did little to upset her perception of a maniac being unwilling to relent, tearing aside slate and wood, brick and plaster…Then she was right up close to the building, her fingers clenched tightly in sticky palms, each greased despite the chill of night.
She was now ready to confront more truths than she felt she could willingly assimilate.
10
The front door was locked. This was Meg’s first realization. She hadn’t wasted time holding back to consider the implications of her actions or lapse into any other behavior that befitted a middle-England woman who’d been brought up well by honorable parents and had worked in an ostensibly respectable job. Instead, she’d simply advanced on the cottage, ignoring more crunching sounds from inside, and, after thumping firmly at the door and receiving no answer, tried turning the cold metal handle.
It had refused to budge. Amanda had clearly let her lover inside and closed out any potential interference. Did the woman want to talk to Harry, letting him know her true feelings and maybe even giving him an ultimatum? Why else would she have traveled so far to the coast? Their relationship must be serious, with Amanda wondering why the man she loved refused to leave his wife. And had she figured out the reason the previous evening? Had she perceived the heartbreak in Meg, lurking behind a cheerful façade? For a brief period after the tragic event, Meg hadn’t wanted sex and had been unaffectionate with her husband, while also letting the house go to seed. But she’d had a good excuse, hadn’t she? Of course she had . None of this negligence, which had lasted only weeks, justified her husband going off with another woman. Meg had lost her baby, for Christ’s sake. Her baby .
“Harry!” she screamed, battering knotlike fists against the door again until the flesh ran red. “Harry, come out of there, you coward! You dishonest bastard! You…you heartless fucker!”
There was no reply, the cottage remaining in silence, but…was that actually true? Once all the breath had escaped Meg, causing her to gasp in the cool air, she thought she heard a noise from inside, though one that sounded anything but of human origin.
It was like a heavy mobilization of moist flesh. Meg imagined some vast species of sea life prizing through a gap too narrow to accommodate its bulk. It was fortunate the thing had so many insectlike limbs to propel its relentless motion, gripping door frames with many borrowed fingers and seeking its quarry with inherited intelligence.
Then Meg paced backward, certain the figure beyond the door—a bulky, glutinous figure that crackled with subdued electricity, like sparks flying from water-doused gadgets—had been moving to the right…toward the rear of the building, where the bedroom would be located, presently occupied by two furtive paramours.
Roof tiles were scattered to and fro on the flagged path leading around the back. No regulated property owner would have left the cottage in such a shabby state of disrepair, and so Meg must assume the damage had been caused since its current tenant’s arrival: today.
“No, this night,” she said aloud, encouraging herself to reach the window she desired by remaining in touch with reality. Too often recently she’d lapsed into delusional speculation,
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